


Dimanche Avec Destiel/Sundays with Destiel

by riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, M/M, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, each chapter is its own fic, tags in the notes at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2020-02-09 21:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 134,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: The D.A.Ds collection, by moi!A series of (mostly) unrelated destiel-based prompts fulfilled and posted every Sunday for the foreseeable future.Inspired by the "Sundays with Spideypool" by not-close-to-straight on tumblr and ao3.  Chapter notes will have the tags and the prompt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Bobby Singer
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for language), Alternate Universe - canon divergence (sorta), de-aged character
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _Anonymous: I know there’s de-aged Sam/Dean/Castiel fics… But could you perhaps do a de-aged Bobby prompt? With Dean, Sam, and co. having to take care of him and reverse it?_

**PROMPT #1**

Something like an _explosion_ rocks the house. It startles Sam so hard that he jumps sideways out of his chair, all his long limbs sprawling across the floor. Dean actually drops his beer and instead of pushing away from the table like he tries to do, all he does is rock back dangerously on the two hind legs of his chair. The only thing that keeps him from hitting the floor too is Cas’s steadying hand on his shoulder. He’s also the one who catches the beer before it has a chance to spill all over the old books they’ve been buried in for the last twelve hours.

Of course, out of all of them, the Angel is the only one whose feathers _don’t_ get ruffled by what just happened. Damn lucky for Dean (and his back) that they were both speculating about a passage in the book he was reading when whatever the fuck happened – well, _happened_.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Dean jumps to his feet as soon as everything is steady enough to stand, his hand dipping into the back of his waistband for the grip of his Colt M1911A1.

Sam has a gun in his hand and is on his feet in a heartbeat, immediately training it in the direction the explosion originated from. In this case, that’s technically beneath their feet, but he’s got it trained on the door to the basement. It’s swinging on its hinges now; thick white smoke billowing up the stairs.

Cas turns, calm as can be, and hums softly. “I believe Bobby was working with ingredients for a spell that would have helped us identify the creature you’re hunting.” He glances at Dean with the barest tilt of his head. “Wasn’t he?”

Dean swears again and brushes past him, Sam hot on his heels. “Bobby!” He shouts down the stairs and hesitates, waiting for a response. With nothing forthcoming but a few muffled coughs, he starts down the stairs, gun at the ready – just in case. “Bobby? You alright?”

He nearly jumps right out of his skin when he gets to the bottom of the stairs to find Cas already waiting. Would it _kill_ him to walk around like a normal person? Cas doesn’t seem at all bothered by the smoke, but there’s a concerned frown creasing his forehead as he stares towards the center of the room. If nothing’s been disturbed by the explosion, then that’s where a table should be. It’s where Bobby works on all his shit with the various ingredients and what not that he’s got stacked on shelves and boxes lining the basement walls.

With a soft sigh, Cas turns his frown on Dean. “I would like to point out that this could have been avoided if he would have allowed me to help him with the preparations. My knowledge of spell components and their properties would have been better suited than –”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it Cas.” Dean coughs and waves his hand in front of his face, trying to get his eyes to stop stinging from the smoke. “What the hell happened?”

“I presume this is not the result he was expecting.”

Sam clears his throat loudly from a few stairs up. “Not all of us can _see_ the results right now, Cas.” He’s crouching with his shirt rucked up over his nose so he’s not inhaling anything – which Dean should be kicking himself for not doing too. “Can you maybe fill us in? Or do something about this smoke?”

Cas actually blinks up at him like he didn’t even realize the smoke was even a problem. He makes a soft sound of acknowledgement and then there’s a breeze blowing through the room. Dean shields his eyes and turns his back into it until it’s gone. When he can see and breathe again, he almost wishes that it was back to save him from the sudden realization that this day has taken a sharp and very _unpleasant_ turn.

“Son of a _bitch_.” Dean groans and tucks his gun into the small of his back again.

“ _Shit_.” Sam mutters under his breath and runs a hand over his face.

“Both apt statements.” Cas nods his head in agreement.

There, standing next to the work table and almost three feet shorter than usual, is Bobby. Or, at least, Dean _really_ hopes that’s Bobby. Technically, he’s still wearing the same baseball hat that Bobby had been wearing when he left them an hour ago to tinker away down here. Same with the clothes hanging off the small frame. But the telltale scruff is gone. It’s been replaced with splotchy red cheeks, wide eyes full of tears, and a quivering bottom lip.

Dean clears his throat and takes a step closer before dropping into a crouch so he’s at least closer to the height of the – kid? God, how old is he? Dean’s always been horrible with predicting the ages of kids. “Uh – Bobby? That you?”

The kid – Bobby, possibly – sniffles loudly, tilts his head back (thus tipping the oversized hat off his head), and _wails_. It’s probably the most horrible sound known to man, and Dean has fought an actual honest-to-God Banshee before. Sam makes a choked noise and Dean nearly falls on his ass in surprise. Bobby is just about _screaming_ and there’s big ol’ Studio Gihbli sized tears just pouring down his cheeks. On instinct, Dean wants to comfort the kid, but he just doesn’t fucking know _how_.

Cas steps around him, takes two steps, and taps the kid on the forehead. The screaming stops instantly and Bobby’s eyes flutter. He drops, right into Cas’s waiting arms, where he scoops the kid up and tilts him against his chest until Bobby’s cheek is pillowed on his shoulder. Nobody dares to comment on the fact Bobby’s jeans are still on the floor and the kids is now wearing a flannel that’s _way_ too big on him; hanging off of one shoulder dangerously and falling past his knees.

Cas turns to them with that furrow between his eyebrows again and just stares down at Dean. Belatedly, he realizes he’s still on his ass and he scrambles to get up again.

“So…” He slaps at his jeans to knock the dirt off them, since the floor sure as hell hasn’t seen a broom or vacuum in probably forever. “That just happened.”

“This _is_ happening.” Sam makes another choked noise and Dean turns to find him covering his face and peeking out between his fingers. “Cas, tell the truth. Is that really Bobby?”

The flat look they get is all the answer they need. Instead of giving a verbal answer, Cas instead fusses with the kid, fixing the shirt and pushing brown curls off his forehead. He uses the sleeve of his coat to wipe the tears and snot off his face and Bobby makes a snuffling noise against his shoulder.

Dean groans and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Alright, better question.” He fixes Cas with his best approximation of puppy eyes. Sam pulls it off better than him, but Cas has always been – uh – _weaker_ to Dean’s pleas. “Do you know how to fix this?”

Cas levels him with another flat look. He’s apparently satisfied with cleaning Bobby’s face, because now his free hand is rubbing soothing circles between his tiny shoulder blades. Seriously, when did Cas get good with kids? He’s always been awkward with basically anyone and now he’s suddenly primo parental material? Is this an Angel thing? Are all of Heaven’s bitches (not that Cas is really one of those anymore) just naturally – y’know – good at this shit?

With a pointed sigh – one that sounds _distinctly_ disappointed – Cas turns to take a look at whatever Bobby had been working on. He steps over Bobby’s forgotten jeans (and, upon closer inspection, _underwear_ ) and scans the items scattered across the table, all now covered in a fine layer of ash. While he’s looking, Dean flaps his hand at Sam to get his attention and points at the pants on the floor. Sam squints at it before sharing a horrified look with him. The kid is _naked_ under that flannel.

“Do we even _have_ anything that would fit him?” Sam hisses.

Dean shrugs and makes a helpless gesture with both hands. “I don’t fuckin’ know!”

Cas must hear them, but he doesn’t pay attention while poking a finger around in the bowl that Bobby had been mixing spell ingredients into. Said finger is covered in ash when he lifts it to his face. Both Dean and Sam pause and wrinkle their noses in unison because ugh _gross_ when Cas first sniffs the ashes and then _licks_ his finger. He hums under his breath and dusts off a book spread out next to the bowl, squinting at it while he flips back and forth through a few pages.

“We gotta find him some clothes.” Dean turns away and pulls his phone out, already thumbing through to his internet app so he can find the nearest kid’s clothing store. “I’m not letting him run around half-naked when he wakes up.”

“What if he turns back while he’s pants-less?” There’s a hint of true horror in Sam’s voice and, again, they share terrified look.

Finally, Cas decides to speak up again. “Even if you put him in clothing that would fit him, it would be ruined when he turns back.” His voice is soft; amused. Dean likes it and hates it all at the same time. Especially when Cas glances at him again and his eyes have that little twinkle they get when he thinks they’re being _silly Humans_. “The spell affects the body, not the clothing it wears.”

“Oh God.” Dean puts his phone away and rubs his hand over his face. “He’s gonna Hulk outta kid’s clothes when he’s back to normal.” He should’ve figured that out on his own, given that Bobby is currently basically swimming in it what he was wearing before.

Sam shudders again. “I vote he stays in the shirt and then we just – we just _not_ be in the room when he changes back?”

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” With another sigh, Dean turns his puppy dog eyes on Cas again. “Any hints on whether or not you can fix this?” Cas looks away quickly and straightens his shoulders slightly. Jackpot. The eyes _totally_ worked. Dean would preen a bit over that, if it wasn’t for the – y’know – whole _kid Bobby_ thing going on.

Cas clears his throat and gestures a hand out over the table. “Given the spell he was using and the ingredients I can see, I should be able to reverse engineer this to fix what he did.” He pauses and leans over to pick up a box, shaking it slightly. “Though I will have to go collect more of this one.” The corners of his mouth tilt down into a brief frown. “He shouldn’t have used this. That’s probably what caused the spell to malfunction.”

“What is it?”

“Dragon’s Wort.” Cas sighs and puts the box down. He taps a finger on the book. “The printing is smudged. It should say _Dragon’s Wart_ for this spell.”

Dean shifts on his feet and forces a little laugh. “Aw, c’mon, Cas. Dragons aren’t real.”

Okay, Cas needs to learn a new expression because that flat look is starting to get annoying. Also, Dean doesn’t want to even deal with the idea that Dragons actually _do_ exist. He shakes his head, flaps a hand, and points at the table. “How long will it take you to take care of things and get that –” This time Dean gestures at Bobby. “– reversed?”

“Not long.” Cas steps away from the table and carefully peels Bobby from where he’s drooling all over his shoulder. He follows that up by holding the kid out to Dean, eyes bright and amused again. “Here. Take him. I estimate that he’s around three years of age. He’ll sleep for another little while yet.”

As much as he tries to avoid it, it’s not like Dean can just _not_ take the kid. He’s a lot more awkward about it than Cas was. “What – uh – what do we do if he wakes up?”

“Entertain him?” His shoulder twitches in another shrug. “Feed him. Make sure he uses the bathroom too.” He tilts his head and gives Bobby a critical look. “At this age, I can’t confirm if he’s trained for the bathroom yet.”

Sam groans and rubs his hands over his face again. “I need to know, Cas. Why do you know so much about kids?”

“I like children.” Cas shrugs again. The words, objectively, could be a little creepy, but the way he says them doesn’t really inspire that feeling. He also doesn’t expand on the idea because in the blink of an eye and the rustle of feathers, he’s gone.

“You’ve got more experience with kids.” Sam stands up and starts up the stairs again. “I nominate you as official babysitter while I keep doing research.”

Dean starts up after him, trying his best not to disturb the kid at all. “Dude, where do you even get the idea that I know how to handle a three year old?”

Sam drops heavily back into his spot at the table and drags his laptop closer. “Pretty sure you’re the one that basically raised me.”

“Pretty sure I was _seven years old_ when you were three. That’s, like, forever ago.” He could do the mental math if he wanted, but he really doesn’t. Not when he’s apparently got a _kid_ to take care of.

Bobby makes another snuffling noise, though this one is distinctly unhappy, when Dean carefully puts him down on the couch under the window. There’s a blanket draped over the back of it and he folds it forward to tuck around him. “Please, for the love of God, _please_ sleep until Cas gets back.”

“You just jinxed it.” Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop while he keeps _tap-tap-taping_ away at the keys. “Now you just ensured that he’s going to wake up in five minutes.”

Dean groans and makes sure to punch Sam in the back of the shoulder on his way past to the kitchen. “Then I’m going to make some lunch.” Hopefully they’ll have more than just beer in the fridge. It’s probably frowned upon to give a kid beer, even if they happen to be de-aged father figures.

They’ve got cheese, they’ve got bread and butter, and that’s all Dean needs to whip up some tasty grilled cheese sandwiches. He makes four first; two for him, and two for Sam. There’s no point in making one for the kid yet if he’s still sleeping. If he’s out for another hour, it’ll be cold by the time he eats it and they’re not half as good then.

Except Dean only gets, like, halfway through his lunch before there’s movement on the couch and a quiet noise that may or may not have been his name. He turns around and Sam looks up to find little Bobby sitting up and rubbing his eyes. At least he’s not crying this time.

“Uh – hey, lil guy.” Dean gets up and rubs his hands clean on his jeans before crouching next to the couch. “Did you have a good sleep?”

Bobby blinks at him a few times but otherwise doesn’t answer. Still better than tears, though, so Dean jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the table. “You hungry? We got grilled cheese.”

That gets a reaction. Bobby’s eyes light up and he slides forward on the couch, twisting so he can curl over the edge of the cushion feet first. Dean pointedly looks away when the shirt starts riding up. The moment Bobby is on his feet, he rushes over to the table and starts trying to pull himself up onto Dean’s abandoned chair. Sam tries to hide a smile behind a bite of his sandwich, but Dean catches it and throws him a glare before going to help Bobby.

Once he’s settled, Bobby greedily reaches from the plate with Dean’s half-finished lunch. Immediately, Sam stands up and starts pulling all the books Dean had been reading out of reach. Dean gives him a thumbs up. Bobby would absolutely _kill_ them if he returned to normal and found greasy cheese print fingerprints all over his precious collection. It’s taken him a lifetime to gather all these books and Dean does _not_ want to be responsible for replacing it if they damage anything.

Dean drags a chair around to sit next to Bobby. They don’t have a booster seat or anything, so someone has to make sure the kid doesn’t tilt right off the side of the chair and crack his head open or anything. He never thought he’d have to do this again, but here he is ripping up the sandwich into bite sized pieces to make sure that Bobby doesn’t take bigger bites than he can take. Sam, at least, isn’t entirely useless. He goes and gets Dean more napkins (aka: paper towel) and a glass of water, because God forbid that they have juice – whether in box or bottle.

As careful as Dean tries to be with getting Bobby to drink slowly, the glass is too big for his tiny mouth and half of the first sip ends up down the front of his shirt. Bobby doesn’t seem to care and continues eating noisily (messily). With a kid around, Dean can’t exactly swear like he wants to, so he keeps it internal while trying to blot some of the mess away.

“We got any straws around?”

“I’ll check.” Sam disappears into the kitchen again. Drawers and cupboards open and close for a few minutes before he shows up with a straw, still in its wrapping. In all honesty, it’s probably a long forgotten take-out straw that Bobby never ended up using once upon a time.

That saves the front of Bobby’s shirt from any more spilling, thankfully. But he still prefers wiping his fingers on his shirt rather than the paper towel Dean tries cleaning him up with. Which is just fucking _great_. By the time Bobby is done, it’s obvious that they need to change his clothes and that’s just – no. Dean is no stranger to seeing guys naked, what with his dabbling, his love of porn, and the fact that he grew up _sharing hotel rooms_ with Sam. But this is _Bobby_ and a _kid_ and –

“Any chance I can bribe you to help him change into something cleaner?” He tries for his best puppy eyes when he glances across the table at Sam.

The bastard doesn’t even have the balls to answer him. He just ducks his head down and tries _very hard_ to look as studious as possible. For that, a wad of gum is mysteriously going to make its way into his hair at some point in the next week. Not so soon that it would obviously been seen as retaliation… but _soon_.

With a groan, Dean scoops Bobby out of the chair and up into how he was holding him earlier. It’s an entirely different kettle of fish now that the kid is awake, because he doesn’t fucking _hold still_. He’s a squirming, fidgeting, noise-making mess and Dean _knows_ Sam is laughing as he heads for the stairs. Maybe gum won’t be a big enough punishment.

Dean plops little Bobby down on big Bobby’s bed and lets him fuss while he locates a t-shirt. It’s still too big for a three-year-old’s frame, but it’s better than nothing. He very firmly keeps his eyes fixed on the wall while getting Bobby out of the flannel. He’s functioning solely on peripherals here, and it’s not an easy task – especially given how _wriggle_ kids are. And he’s not even allowed to swear! Bobby has a worse mouth than him on any given day, but Dean can’t bring himself to drop any f-bombs when there’s a kid present, no matter who they are.

The flannel comes off and Dean glances away just long enough to toss it towards the vicinity of the warped old basket that Bobby has in the corner for his dirty clothes. Before he even gets his hand on the t-shirt, the kid is gone. Like, blink and you miss it _gone_. At first thought, Dean thinks Cas popped in, grabbed him, and left, but there’s no telltale wing beats or the lingering scent of ozone that follows any use of his wings. And then he hears the pattering of feet and realizes that Bobby got off the bed in the split second that Dean wasn’t looking.

“Fuck _me_.” He hisses under his breath and grabs the shirt as he looks just in time to see a naked ass disappear around the door frame. “Sammy! We got a streaker heading for the stairs!”

A distressed groan rumbles up from somewhere downstairs, but Sam’s still at the bottom of the stairs when Dean reaches them. Bobby has his hands on the banister posts and he’s making short work of going down the stairs one at a time – stark ass _naked_. There is no God. He would never allow this to happen. No, wait. Knowing what he knows about the situation in Heaven and just how _shit_ his own life has been, he can _definitely_ see that God would be enough of a dick to allow him to see Bobby’s ass one time too many. Sam, unfortunately, is trying very hard to keep an eye on him in case he falls while also not getting an eyeful of naked kid-front.

“This is the worst. This is the _worst_.” Dean chants as he heads down the stairs.

It’s not like he needs to go fast or anything. Bobby is barely halfway down the staircase, but there is a sense of urgency to get him covered up. Hopefully Cas will get back _before_ they have to figure out a bathroom situation. Dean would rather drive Baby into a lake over dealing with that.

With absolutely zero help from Sam, Dean manages to stop Bobby long enough to wrangle him into a t-shirt. He lets him run free after that and slumps down on the bottom step. Give him a ghost or a demon any day. A kid? He’s not built for this kind of stuff.

“You should maybe keep an eye on him.” Sam shuffles his feet and leans around to watch as Bobby runs laps around the haphazard room that’s part study and part living room. “There’s a lot of stuff lying around that could hurt a kid. Or he might knock over a pile of stuff.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate to reach out and slap Sam’s hand. “I’m tagging you in.” When the puppy eyes turn on him, he shakes his head. “Don’t even _try_. I fed him _and_ changed him. The least you can do is make sure he doesn’t pull down a bookshelf on his head.”

Sam’s jaw snaps shut with a click, lips pressing into his patented _bitch face_. He only has a moment to glare at Dean before he’s running off after Bobby. “No, no, no. Don’t _touch_ that!”

It’s gearing up to be a _long_ fucking day. Dean rubs a hand over his face and rocks to the side so he can stretch out a leg and get his phone out of his pocket. He thumbs through to Cas’s contact and taps out a quick message. **_Come back ASAP_.**

* * *

Cas, like the asshole is he, doesn’t show up until the middle of the night. In his defense, he looks a little more haggard than when he left. The hem of his coat at the bottom is actually _singed_ in places and his hair is a lot more fucked up than usual. There’s a brown paper bag tucked carefully in the crook of one arm, and a plastic grocery bag hanging from the fingers of his other hand.

Bobby is fast asleep on the couch again, wrapped in the blanket like a burrito with his chubby cheek pillowed on Dean’s knee. Sam is face down on the table, fast asleep and probably drooling into whatever book he has open currently. Dean was dozing, kinda. Eyes closed but not really sleeping. He was too worried to sleep. What if he conked out and Bobby woke up? What if he managed to turn the stove on and burn himself? Or set the house on fire? Or get into the basement and set off one of the guns? Or knock a knife on his head?

There were just too many worries and anxieties for him to even _think_ of sleeping. So when he hears the rustle of feathers and a quiet sigh, he opens his eyes and fixes Cas with his _disappointed_ eyes. “How come it took so long?”

“Dragons are notoriously difficult to track, even for me.” Cas at least has the decency to look slightly put out. “They are strong, and resistant to _a lot_. It was a difficult task.” He glances around the room, taking in Sam’s soft snores and Bobby most _definitely_ drooling on Dean’s jeans, before holding out the plastic bag. “I bought this as an apology for taking so long.”

Dean balances the bag on the arm rest and tries to peek inside without actually moving. There’s an apple pie at the bottom of the bag, its plastic lid covered in condensation, meaning it’s _fresh_. Something warm _tugs_ right behind his ribs and Dean can feel a lopsided grin curling on his face. He looks up with a quiet thanks and immediately the tense lines of Cas’s shoulders relax.

“We’ll dig in and have a slice after we get Bobby back to normal.” Dean carefully moves the bag to the end table. “You ready to change him back? Might be easier to do while he’s sleeping.”

“Good idea.”

Cas puts the paper bag down on the other end of the couch before he carefully scoops Bobby and blanket up into his arms again. The blanket trails down his legs as he adjusts him against his shoulder with minimal snuffling and no waking. He picks the bag back up with his other hand and turns to start for the basement again.

“It’ll be a few minutes.”

“I’ll wait here.” Dean waves a hand and leans his head back against the couch.

He doesn’t fall asleep until he hears Bobby’s rough voice and a truly _creative_ string of swears echo up the stairs.

**END**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, soulmates
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _artisticallyreadyandenthused: I’m ALWAYS a sucker for soulmate AUs, like “see colour when you meet your soulmate”, or “first thing they say to you is on your skin”, etc. I’m also a sucker for Disney, so like… prompt where they work at Disneyland/theme park?_

**PROMPT #2**

Dean loves his job. He really does. Like, there is literally _nothing_ better than seeing kids light up when they see you. It doesn’t hurt that they’re lining up to take pictures with him and Princess Aurora. Sure, they’re more here for _Sleeping Beauty_ than they are _Prince Phillip_ , but hey? Attention is attention. And there’s more than enough childless adults here to make up for it. The dreamy looks and slight blushes when he turns on his princely charm? _Priceless_.

So, yeah. Dean loves his job. His soulmate, on the other hand, he _hates_. At least ten times a day he hears that stupid _It’s a Small World_ song humming through his head and when he finds his soulmate, he’s going to kill them. The other Disney songs, he can live with. In fact, Dean sings them a lot to himself too. It’s kinda difficult not to when he’s literally a Cast Member at _Disneyland._ He even sings duets with his soulmate together in their heads sometimes, switching up who sings which role depending on who starts first.

But that _stupid song_. God it just gets stuck in his head and then he’s humming it _all fucking day_ and there’s only so many times he can handle it before he cracks.

As of yet, Dean hasn’t actually _found_ his soulmate. He’s about ninety-nine percent sure that they’re a Disney Cast Member too, given how many Disney songs they sing all the time. It’s kinda what led Dean to applying to work here – not that he ever expected to be asked to be _Prince Phillip_. He kinda hopes that his soulmate is working here at California’s Disneyland and not, y’know, in Florida’s Disney World or – God forbid – one of the overseas locations. If that’s the case, then he’s never going to fucking meet his soulmate because he’ll be dead before he ever sets foot on a plane.

He closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose when, for the _third_ time today, that stupid fucking song starts up in the back of his head again. Dean resolutely ignores it, refusing to join in even when his soulmate pauses to see if he will. Instead, he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again to find a little girl in front of him. She’s wearing _Sleeping Beauty’s_ blue dress with a tiara on her head and staring up at him with wide, round eyes while clutching her autograph book.

Dean immediately drops to his one knee, bowing his head to her. “You look _lovely_ today, little princess. Have we met before?” Sometimes the princess-dressed girls pick up on his hint, and sometimes they don’t. It’s just one of the games he plays to keep them entertained.

She gets a sparkle in her eyes and nods excitedly as she hands over her little autograph book and its attached pen. She leans in for a whisper and he leans forward to keep it just between them. “We’ve met _once upon a dream_.”

“Oh, have we?” He signs the practiced _Prince Phillip_ in the book before handing it back to her. “So _that’s_ why you look so familiar to me.” Dean offers her his hand and dips his head in a bow to it. “It was a pleasure seeing you, Princess. Stay away from spinning wheels, okay?”

“I will!” She giggles happily and Dean stands up as she steps over to get Aurora’s signature.

They exchange a few words, mostly Aurora saying how much she _loves_ the little girl’s dress, and then they step together to get a picture taken with her. They return her wave as she walks away with her parents and turn to the group of adults who happen to be next in line. Dean starts humming the _Once Upon A Dream_ song as he signs a handful of books, and he’s not surprised in the slightest when his soulmate starts singing along too. It’s better than _It’s A Small World_ , after all.

Whoever they are, Dean has yet to find a Disney song they _don’t_ know. But when it comes to Classic Rock, current Rock, or literally any popular songs not related to Disney, his soulmate is silent. No T-Swift; no Kesha; no Imagine Dragons; no Adele. Literally nothing. And Dean sings along to his old tapes and whatever he hears on the radio whenever he’s in the car or working around the house. He listens to a lot of music, and his soulmate never joins in.

They only ever sing _Disney_ songs, and that always leaves Dean wondering exactly what kind of person his soulmate might be.

* * *

“Hey, Prince Eric. What’s on the menu for lunch today?” Dean drops into the open seat across the table from one of his princely pals a good fifteen minutes later than he was supposed to. Things are usually more or less on time when it comes to scheduling, but there was a lost kid and Dean couldn’t just leave him alone until his parents were found.

Cas looks up from the textbook he has propped up against the mini-cooler he uses as a lunch box, an apple slice caught between his teeth. The rest of his apple is arranged in precise slices on a napkin in front of him and an empty container sits next to it. Clearly he’s already had lunch, which sucks because Dean prefers it when they’re able to sit and talk together – but it’s his fault for running late.

The only time he and Cas get to hang out at work together is during lunch and at the start and end of their shifts. They can’t really hang out afterwards because Cas has night classes or studying or some other bullshit excuse that breaks Dean’s heart. He likes Cas’s dry wit, or how excited he gets when he talks about his studies, or how they can both get their nerd on with Vonnegut, Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, and every other little thing they apparently have in common.

Without a hum of greeting, Cas moves his textbook and slides the cooler across the table for Dean to see inside. It’s kinda become a _thing_ with them where they’ve taken to bringing enough to share. They alternate days, which means tomorrow Dean has to feed them both. He was the one who started it, if only because he was sick of Cas getting something to eat at the park restaurants every day. Even with the Cast Member discounts, it was still expensive and overall just not healthy. Which is a bit hypocritical given that Dean _adores_ a good diner meal more than most.

Dean cracks open the sectioned container to find one filled one carrots, the other with ranch dip, and a thick cut roast beef sandwich cut diagonally. It makes his mouth water. The meals Cas usually makes are quick and easy. He doesn’t really have the time to make the stew, or pasta, or whatever it is that Dean brings for them. It’s fine though. Dean is a man who enjoys the simple things in life, and Cas knows it.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean flashes him a grin as he picks up one half of the sandwich. “This looks _awesome_.”

“Don’t forget the apple.” Cas reaches over and pulls another from the cooler, and a slicer to core it evenly. He puts it on a napkin and pushes the slicer down over it to cut it for him before sliding it across the table again.

He flutters his eyelashes at him, cheek full of sandwich. “You take _such_ good care of me.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but there’s a little smile tilting the corners of his lips. He pulls his textbook close again and props his cheek up on a fist. “Someone has to.”

Dean resolutely ignores the bloom of heat in his chest and instead focuses on his sandwich.

If he wasn’t here looking for his stupid soulmate, Dean would have snatched Cas up in a hot second. Hell, he could do what a lot of people do and just ignore the fact that he has a soulmate anyways. He likes Cas. He’s cute, nice, sweet, and just an overall pleasure to be around. And, like, Dean _really_ wants to be around him more. If it wasn’t for Cas’s stupid classes and how his days off are strictly reserved for studying, assignments and family time, they would _totally_ be hanging out all the fucking time.

But that’s not in the cards for them. Cas isn’t going to have free time until he graduates, because _of course_ he’s gotta be one of those school nerds who takes _summer classes_. What an asshole. An asshole with dark hair tousled _just right_ and baby blues that _do things_ to Dean’s insides. And those lips? Oh Dean has had _dreams_ about those lips. It’s so fucking _unfair_ – especially when he catches lingering looks like maybe, just maybe, Cas has the same kind of thoughts.

Whoever Cas’s soulmate might be is one lucky son-of-a-bitch. Not that Cas has ever mentioned anything about them. Dean complained about it a few times, mostly about the song selections, but Cas always got this shut off look about him whenever the subject came up. Maybe he lost his soulmate? Or maybe they don’t sing back? That happens when people just aren’t interested in finding the person that’s supposed to compliment them the best. It can be a bit of a touchy subject with a lot of people and Dean has done his best to just not talk about it.

And it’s right about then that _It’s A Small World_ starts up quietly in the back of his head. It’s got that soft airy feel to it that means his soulmate is only _thinking_ the words instead of actually singing them out loud or even humming it, but it’s still fucking _annoying_. Dean groans and thumps the heel of his hand against his temple a few times.

“Something wrong?” Cas tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Fucking _soulmate_.” Dean hisses and takes a rather vicious bite of a carrot, enjoying the snap. “They’re stuck on the worst song in the world.”

Cas hums a thoughtful kind of sound. “What song is it?”

“ _It’s A Small World_.” He makes a face and rolls his eyes. “They only ever sing _Disney_ songs, which is fine with me because who doesn’t love belting out a good Disney tune every now and then? But they’ve been fixated on _this_ one for _weeks_ and it’s driving me up the _wall_.”

Dean has made it clear in the past that the whole reason he came to Disneyland for a job was because he wanted to find his soulmate. It just seemed the logical place to start, given that all he hears is Disney songs. Either that or his soulmate actually works for the Disney animation studios, in which case he’s fucked and might as well just give up and hope that fate has it written that he’ll meet his soulmate in this lifetime somewhere not Disney-related.

“Maybe it’s someone who works behind the scenes at that ride?” Cas muses softly, chewing slowly on an apple slice. He looks more amused by this conversation than his usual dour little pout when the topic of a soulmate comes up. “Or they’re working close enough to it that they hear that song a lot?”

“Poor fucker.” Dean mutters, without a hint of a pity. The song has just kept humming away this whole time and he’s not going to put up with it right now. “Sorry ‘bout this, Cas, but it’s time for drastic measures. I’m not letting that dickwad ruin the rest of lunch time with you.”

Before Cas can even open his mouth to ask what that means, Dean pushes against the table to rock back on the hind legs of his chair and raises his voice. He starts belting out a song to drown out the other lyrics on loop in the back of his mind. “ ** _I like big butts and I cannot lie. You other brothers can’t deny that when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you –_** ”

A well-known and very common fact about soulmates is that the louder you sing, the louder the song is in your soulmate’s head. It can be a bit annoying if you’re in a quiet and relaxed kinda place and they decide to belt out the lyrics to their favourite song when it comes on the radio. It can also hurt a little. But, thankfully, situations like that don’t happen often. Most people aren’t assholes enough to _scream_ songs, especially because retaliation is _real_ easy when you’ve got a two-way connection like this to another person’s brain.

Now, Dean isn’t exactly _screaming_ , but it’s definitely loud enough that every head in the break room turns to look at him. If any of his bosses are walking by, he’s probably going to get written up too. He’s dressed as _Prince Phillip_ for fuck’s sake and if, for any reason, a park visitor saw him acting like this, he’d probably get canned on the spot. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and Dean doesn’t even think about that consequence until he’s already snapped his mouth shut mid-lyric.

That’s not what stopped him though. Oh no, not at all. What stopped him is the way Cas flinched – the way he _winced_. It wasn’t out of surprise, because Cas doesn’t surprise easily. Dean once tried to scare him by jumping out from around a corner when he knew Cas was coming, and he barely even blinked. So there’s _no way_ that Dean singing loudly all of a sudden would make him twitch like that. There’s _no reason_ for why he sits back in his chair and rubs his temples like he’s got a headache.

Unless – “Oh my God.” Dean breathes and the front legs of his chair drop heavily to the ground again. It’s really loud in the silence that follows his singing. “ _You’re_ _the dickwad_.”

“Nice of you to finally notice.” Though his tone is a little biting and a lot sarcastic, there’s still a smile on Cas’s lips. “I figured I’d be singing that song for another month before you realized.”

Dean leans over the table, neatly avoiding putting any of his costume in the half-empty container of ranch dip. “You _asshole_. When did you figure it out?”

“Three months ago.” Cas shrugs, glances at the clock, and starts packing up his lunch. “When you came into the locker room before work singing that god awful _Adele_ song.” He rolls his eyes and, for the first time, Dean hears non-Disney lyrics airily whisper through the back of his mind.

“You don’t like _Set Fire to the Rain_?”

“Loathe it entirely.” He stands up and tucks his textbook under his arm. “My brother played that song on repeat in his bedroom for a week straight when he was dumped. Now it annoys me just to _hear_ it, let alone have my soulmate singing it in my head.”

Dean remembers that day. The song had been playing on the radio when he parked his car and he had been humming it the whole way to the locker room. He wanted to be snazzy with his entrance and starting singing out loud when he walked in. Cas always got to work before him and he knew he was going to be there, and he’d been half-hoping that Cas would sing along with him like some of their other Cast Members did. At least then he would’ve had a confirmation of whether or not Cas was his soulmate. But Cas had been in a bad mood that morning and had barely said a word to him before he left to go change into his costume.

“But – but –” He knows how to use his mouth, the words are just jammed up behind his tongue and won’t fucking _come out_.

There are so many questions he wants to ask! Why didn’t Cas say something sooner? Why is he going back to work when they should be talking about the fact that they’re fucking _soulmates_? The bosses will understand. Probably. Maybe. And they can be just a little late with going back out into the park. He can’t just _walk away_ after a revelation like this!

Cas puts his empty container and crumpled napkin in the cooler, but leaves it on the table. “Put that in my locker when you’re done eating.”

Dean stands up sharply. “ _Cas_ –”

“Ariel’s waiting for me.” He holds up his hand to shush him and it works. “I have to get back to work now. We can talk afterwards.”

“But why _Disney_ songs?” Of all the fucking questions that he could have gotten out, why did it have to be that one? It’s literally the least important question he could have asked.

A little smile quirks in Cas’s eye. “Why not? They’re catchy and I like them.” He starts around the edge of the table, heading for the door behind Dean’s back.

“And what about _It’s A Small World_?” Dean turns as Cas passes by him. “What the hell is up with singing _that_ all the time?”

Cas pauses next to him, looking thoughtful. He flashes a quick smile at him as he leans in and drops his voice into something near a whisper. “Because I knew it would annoy you the most.”

Then, with a quickly stolen kiss, Cas is gone. He’s out the door before Dean’s brain manages to reboot. As it does, a new song surfaces in the back of his mind and Dean drops back into his chair. It’s going to take a few minutes to really wrap his head around what just happened, but he tucks back into the last half of his lunch and hums along to the tune of _Someday My Prince Will Come_.

**END**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  General/No Warnings, Alternate Universe - modern
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _monarchmish: Dean is in a competitive sand castle building castle for $15k at the beach when Cas’s new hyper rescue dog gets loose from its leash and runs through Dean’s sand castle, ruining it and making Dean lose the prize money._

**PROMPT #3**

In hindsight, Castiel did not think his plans for today through _at all_.

He adopted Toby, a one year old and utterly adorable German Shepherd mix, a few weeks ago. According the shelter where Castiel had adopted him, Toby’s previous owners insisted that he was properly trained and an affectionate delight. That seemed true during the few times that he went to the shelter to meet the available dogs prior to the adoption. It was that penchant for affection and the playfulness that had drawn Castiel to Toby in the first place and made the decision for him.

The first week had been excellent. Toby knew that he had to ask to go outside when he had to go to the bathroom, and he didn’t beg when Castiel sat down for dinner. He was playful and more or less well behaved. It was a good first week. But what Toby didn’t know was that Castiel had the week off of work to spend at home to help him adjust. As soon as he went back to work, some _behaviours_ made themselves known and it’s been – well. It's been  _something_.

The second week has been difficult. Toby does _not_ like being left alone for nearly nine hours out of the day. One of Castiel’s walls has been utterly _ruined_ all around the corner – chewed to pieces until the drywall was gone and the studs beneath could be seen. The next victim was one of the chairs in the living room. That ended up being hauled away to the dump by Friday. Castiel has also cleaned up more pee puddles in the last week than he ever did with the family dog that he grew up with.

This – this has been a challenge. One that Castiel hasn’t been wholly prepared to handle. He takes Toby out daily for _at least_ an hour after work at the dog park. There’s also a nice big backyard at the house where he can run around and let off more energy while Castiel throws a ball from his place on the patio where he can go over contracts, papers, agreements and more because he has the nasty habit of taking work home with him.

On top of that, there is absolutely _no_ shortage of affection. If Toby comes to him for scratches, Castiel will stop everything (within reason) to give him a full body rub; belly, ears, base of the tail, chin. Everything that gets Toby’s leg thumping, Castiel will give it until he’s a boneless puddle of puppy on the floor. He lets Toby up on the furniture to cuddle during Netflix marathons, and he’s even allowed to sleep in the bed.

The shelter volunteers suggested that Toby’s bad behavior could be attributed to a lack of attention or affection, but what more can Castiel do? Short of having someone with him twenty-four-seven, there’s nothing that he can do. Maybe he could enroll Toby into some kind of day program? At the very least, he could arrange for a dog walker to help him burn off excess energy during business hours. Castiel might just have to take the hit to his wallet if it will help stop the bad behavior has only been escalating. Otherwise, he has _no idea_ how to stop it and he doesn’t want to be one of _those_ adopters who returns a pet because they weren’t able to handle it. Toby deserves better than that.

And that brings everything back to today. The beginning of the third week of dog ownership. It’s a warm Sunday in the summer heat and Castiel has made the decision to spare his home any further Toby-related destruction. What he didn’t plan thoroughly, the hindsight that he will later be kicking himself with, is that he really should have checked the online beach bulletin to make sure there wasn’t anything happening at the beach that day.

His plan, as he loaded Toby up into the car with a couple tote bags of towels, snacks, and dog toys, was to take Toby to the beach and let him enjoy the water. They could play fetch in the waves with a little football and Toby could dig in the sand. He really likes digging, much to the despair of Castiel’s once immaculate backyard and garden. The beach seemed like the perfect place for Toby to burn off steam and, perhaps, they could have a quiet evening together. Finally.

But Castiel was stupid. He forgot to check the beach. The beach nearest his home is one that often has events hosted at it – such as weddings, birthday parties, competitions, etc. Part of it is still always open to the public, but often a good section of it is corded off for events. In particular, today’s event is a _sandcastle building competition_. Castiel isn’t aware of this fact until he’s unloaded the car and Toby has very insistently dragged him down the path from the parking lot to the beach.

The moment he saw the massive banner and sign-up booth for the competition, toting a _$15,000 prize_ no less, Castiel should have turned around and gone home. He should have taken Toby to the dog park instead, or checked him into the doggy daycare where he could play out his energy with a couple dozen other dogs. But no, of course he didn’t. Castiel’s curiosity got the better of him and he found himself staking out a claim on a spot not far past the competition – which is just another tally on his list of mistakes that he makes today.

 _First mistake_ : not checking the schedule.

 _Second mistake_ : not leaving immediately after arriving.

 _Third mistake_ : sitting so close that he can actually see the freckles on the bare shoulders of the guy building a sand castle nearest to his edge of the cordoned off area.

Not only is it a good location on the beach, but the view isn’t half bad either. Castiel maybe lingers a little too long on the broad shoulders and shift of muscles in the back of the sand castle builder. He’s always been a little weak for a nice back, and for a pair of swimming trunks that cling _just right_. So, maybe it’s the view that brainwashed him into thinking it’s a good idea to stay.

To both his credit and Toby’s, things don’t go terrible _immediately_. At first it’s actually really nice. Toby explores as far as his leash will allow as Castiel sets up their little plot of land, and then they go for a little walk up the beach to see all the sand castles. Some are fairly elaborate, getting built taller than he is, and some spread out with a moat and what may or may not end up being gardens. The builders really are quite talented with all their spires and battlements. Of course, they would have to be to qualify for a competition with the prize being _fifteen thousand dollars_.

After their walk, Castiel settles on the blanket with the Frisbee in hand and they get to playing. It’s a solid half-hour of throwing the disc into the water with Toby splashing his way to get it and bring it back. Castiel keeps a close eye on him to make sure that he doesn’t bother anyone else. Toby is good at coming when called, but his boundless energy can be a bit much for other people and he gets excited _very_ easily.

It’s been more than an hour. They manage to enjoy themselves for nearly an _hour and a_ _half_ before Castiel loses any semblance of control he thought he had on the situation. He _thought_ he could trust Toby to stay settled on the blanket next to him while chewing on a rawhide for a little down time. It gave Castiel time to eat his own sandwich and relax in the warm sun. His energy levels don’t exactly match Toby’s, so he needs to take a few more breaks than he does.

 _Fourth mistake_ : not keeping Toby on a leash despite there not being any leash laws for this beach.

A loud whistle sounds on the other side of the cordoned off area and someone with a megaphone announces the halfway point for the competition. Castiel glances over to see how the competition is going. Freckled-Shoulders has quite the castle going. It’s one of the taller ones and he’s apparently focuses on carving designs into the side of the castle walls that look like crawling ivy. There’s someone else with him, another man with longer hair, busily carefully shaping tower spires. Their castle is one of the more impressive ones, and the extra details Freckled-Shoulders is adding might very well cinch the win for them.

Or, it would have, it Toby had been better trained and Castiel hadn’t made a series of mistakes today leading up to this very moment.

The first whistle from the competition got Toby’s attention. The second, preceding a second announcement, has him scrambling up from the blanket faster than Castiel can react. Before he can get a grip on his collar, Toby is off like a shot – a brown streak of fur making a beeline straight for the sand castle competition. Castiel’s stomach drops as he scrambles to get to his feet, calling out a word of warning – for what good it does.

Some heads turn, but not everyone hears him over the general clamor of the crowd. They do, however, take notice of the dog now skidding in and around the competitors. Shouts of surprise keep Castiel aware of exactly where Toby is. He shoves his way through the crowd to the edge of the cordoned off area for the competition.

“Toby!” He puts two fingers between his lips and gives a piercing whistle that’s louder than the murmuring crowd, hoping that will be enough to get his attention now that he’s nearing uncontrollable levels of excitement again. “Toby! _Heel_!”

Surprisingly, that seems to work. Halfway down the beach, Toby skids to a stop, turns, and starts running back. He dodges happily around everyone that tries to grab him; tongue lolling out and tail wagging excitedly. This is clearly all a game to him and he hasn’t a clue that he’s going to give Castiel a heart attack right here on the beach. He had better hope that’s what happens, because the murderous looks from some of the contestants is enough to make him want to abandon everything – Toby included – and make a run for his car.

Longer-hair steps away from the castle with both his hands out like he’s going to try and cut Toby off. He’s making placating cooing noises that Castiel is well aware _do not_ work on Toby. “Hey buddy, hey. C’mon cutie, time to chill out.”

“Oh my God, Sammy, _no_.” Freckled-Shoulders sees what’s going to happen before Castiel does, and he really wishes that he had just _stayed home_ today.

Toby sees the extended arms as an invitation. If anything he starts to gain _speed_ before he takes a flying leap right into Longer-hair-apparently-Sammy’s arms. Or, more appropriately, his chest. The problem with this is that Toby is a year old German Shepherd mix. He is not exactly a small dog. There’s weight behind him, and Sammy is _not_ prepared for his weight. To his credit, Freckled-Shoulders does somewhat succeed with trying to stop Sammy and Toby from falling _into_ the castle. But in doing so, _he_ ’s the one who ends up crashing into the whole thing and bringing it down.

“Oh God _no_.” Castiel covers his face with his hands and breathes a string of swears.

A chorus of disappointed groans rises up from the ground and all the other competitors have stopped to watch the castle fall apart, piece by piece. It’s like a chain reaction. The first bit of it is taken down by Freckled-Shoulders and the rest of his battlements fall slowly. It’s horrific and Castiel wants to cry, or throw up, or do both. His knees have gone weak and he’s never going to be able to show his face at this beach again.

Meanwhile, Toby doesn’t seem to care. He’s got his front paws on Sammy’s chest and he’s licking his face excitedly without a care in the world. Of _course_ he has no idea what destruction he just brought about. He never does.

Nobody moves for the longest time. At least a few minutes pass before someone shouts about a leash. It spurs Castiel into movement and he jerks forward to step over the rope marking the competition area. The leash is in his hands and he doesn’t exactly remember grabbing it, but he must have done so in his horror-filled panic to follow after Toby. His hands are shaking and it takes a few tries to get the clasp to actually clip over the hoop in Toby’s collar – particularly because he’s very wiggly at the moment.

The only words that Castiel can seem to get out is a string of apologies. He fully accepts the blame for this because he _knows_ Toby. They may have only been together for a few weeks, but he knows his behavior and he should have anticipated it. He should have known that the stimulation of such a big crowd and the hubbub of the competition would be too much for him. But he didn’t because he’s a complete and utter _moron_ and ignored literally every sign that staying was the stupid thing to do.

Freckled-Shoulders cuts off his stream of apologies with a loud sigh. “Welp.” He pops the ‘p’ and sits up to slap sand out of his hair. “Looks like we’re not getting that fifteen thousand, Sam.”

“Looks like.” Sam stands up to and runs a hand over his face to wipe away Toby’s drool. “Too bad. This was probably our best castle yet.”

“I am _so_ sorry.” Castiel winces and his arm jerks as Toby tries to head back to their blanket to finish up with his rawhide. “He’s a recent rescue and has some bad behaviours we’re still working on and I – Your castle really was the best. I wish there was something I could –”

With a short laugh, Freckled-Shoulders gets to his feet and continues knocking sand off his sinfully tight shorts. “Don’t worry about it.” He holds up his hand when Castiel opens his mouth again. “No, seriously, don’t worry about it. Sam and me, we just do this for fun. We don’t need the money, do we, Sammy?”

Sam rolls his eyes and starts collecting all their tools what appears to be a large Rubbermaid tote sitting off to the side. “I mean, it would’ve been _nice_ , but no, not really.” He shrugs too and fixes Castiel with an understanding smile. “We really do just build castles for fun.”

“And we’re _damn_ good at what we do.” Freckled-Shoulders flashes them both a grin. His smile only _grows_ as he looks Castiel over. “Actually, I got an idea on how you can make it up to me.”

That seems to get Sam’s attention and he stands up sharply from the other side of ruins of their castle. “Dean, are you _seriously_ going to hit on him _right now_?” His smile has fallen into something of a disapproving frown. “We literally just – You couldn’t even wait until _after_ we cleaned up and officially bowed out of the competition? _Dude_.”

Dean suits Freckled-Shoulders wonderfully, but Castiel is still very stunned. How did Toby destroying their chances at _fifteen thousand dollars_ turn into him being hit on? While he would give himself a solid eight out of ten when he’s dressed for work, his current outfit is the exact opposite of the fitted suits he wears to meetings with his clients or, on the odd occasion, court.

Currently, Castiel is wearing swim trunks that need to be double knotted to stay on his hips, and an open Hawaiian-print shirt to keep the sun off his shoulders. That’s not even including the horrendously mismatched sunhat (with a fake sunflower!) he managed to dig up. He might be many things, but a fashion icon Castiel is _not_.

However, this seems to be working in his favour. Dean’s grin is cheeky and pleased with himself as he starts helping Sam clean up. “What can I say, Sammy? I got an eye for a pretty face and you _know_ I spotted him as soon as he set up over there.” Without looking, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the exact direction of Castiel’s blanket set up.

All Castiel can do is stand and stare. Toby continues to tug on his leash and, were he not rooted to the spot in utter disbelief, he might be teetering to one side. On the bright side, at least his mouth isn’t hanging open. Or his shorts haven’t come undone and dropped to his ankles. He really should get better fitting shorts. Not that it matters, though. As if he’s ever going to be able to come to this beach again without thinking about this nightmare.

“So, what’cha say?” Dean is suddenly _right there_ in front of Castiel, all sun-kissed freckled skin and warm green eyes. “Your pooch just cost me a whoppin’ fifteen grand, but I’ll wipe the slate clean if you take me to dinner to make up for it.”

Castiel opens his mouth to say that’s ludicrous and it was an _accident_ but all that he manages to get out is a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a ‘ _yes_ ’. He even adds a nod in for good measure, and that was entirely not a planned movement at all.

Dean’s smile is almost brighter than the sun and he steps away with a little bounce in his step. “Awesome!” He picks up one end of the Rubbermaid bin while Sam picks up the other. “Wait right here while we load our shit up in the car and then I’ll be _right back_.”

The crowd parts for them to head towards the parking lot and Castiel belatedly realizes that he’s still standing within the boundaries of the competition. Without making eye contact with _anyone_ , he starts back towards their blanket. Toby still tugs ahead of him, but he drops to his belly to get at his rawhide the moment they’re within reach. It’s all Castiel can do not to look over his shoulder back at what he’s sure is an entire crowd of people watching him. Instead, he slowly lowers himself back onto the blanket and picks up his book again. This time, he keeps Toby on the leash and he makes sure it is _firmly_ secured around his wrist.

Several minutes pass before Toby’s head pops up. He gives a little _boof_ of warning before another body drops down next to him on his other side. Dean stretches his legs out in front of him on the blanket and leans back on one hand. The other, he holds out to Castiel. “Name’s Dean. Nice to meet’cha.”

He slowly shifts his attention from his book to the awaiting hand. So, this really _is_ happening, then? Castiel was half-way convinced that he imagined the whole thing just to deal with the guilt of ruining their chances at winning the competition.

As if he’s worried the extended hand is going to ball into a fist and punch him flat on the nose, Castiel hesitantly eases his own hand into what turns out to be a very firm grip. “Castiel. And this hellion is Toby. He’s – well, he’s _new_.”

Dean hums and lays flat on the blanket. He has sunglasses on now and he tucks his hand behind his head. “He’s cute, but I’m a little miffed at him right now so I’ll save a proper introduction until later. I’ll give him a treat later when I pick you up for our dinner date.” After a moment, he tilts his head to look at Castiel over the rim of his sunglasses. “For the record, maybe _don’t_ bring him tonight, huh?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Four mistakes is enough for one day. He’s also quickly warming up to the idea that he wouldn’t mind if the fifth mistake is losing another chair in the living room while he’s out on a date.

**END**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for language), Canon-AU, hurt/comfort, hurt!Castiel
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Cas broke his ankle and doesn’t know how to get around using crutches, so Dean gets under his arm to help him around. By the end of the day, it’s actually easier to just let Cas piggyback on him. “Uh, ride ‘em cowboy?” Says Cas. Dean blushes hard._

**PROMPT #4**

“And what am I supposed to do with _that_?” Castiel glares at the single crutch that Dean managed to dig up from the depths of the bunker. It looks to be near a century old, with the padding at the top faded and cracked.

Dean rolls his eyes and drops the crutch across Castiel’s lap. “You broke a bone in your _ankle_ not your _head_. You know what you’re supposed to do with it, you big whiny baby.”

He acts all put out, but he still stops to check that the pillow under Castiel’s right ankle is appropriately fluffed and that a blanket, water, TV remote, and anything else he might need are all well within reach. As grumpy as Castiel might be about the pain, and the fact that Dean has put himself in charge of his pain medication and refuses to let him have anything besides the recommended dosage, he does have to give it to him. Dean is an excellent nurse... when he’s not driving Castiel up the wall.

“Use that if you need to go to the bathroom or something, okay?”

“It’s a _crutch_ , Dean, not a bedpan.” He pushes it from his lap and crosses his arms as it slides to the floor. Part of him is vindictively pleased when Dean sighs loudly and picks it up for him, only to prop it up against the side of the couch – still within reach.

When Castiel’s ankle _isn’t_ a pulsing mess of pain beneath a cast too itchy for its own good, he might feel bad for being so bratty. Right now? Not so much. It’s especially easy to ignore the needling voice of his conscience when Dean is the direct reason _why_ he broke his ankle. Which also isn’t the whole truth. He’s only part of the reason. The other part, the larger part, being Castiel. He’s the one who, in a fit of panic, stepped backwards without remembering there were stairs behind him. It’s a stroke of luck that he didn’t break his neck, let alone anything else, in his brief tumble. Though he does have a bit of a sprained wrist, bruises literally _everywhere_ , and a bump on the head that throbs every now and then.

To be fair, he _wouldn’t_ have stepped backwards if Dean hadn’t been standing too close and leaned in as if he were going to – to – well, _kiss him_. On any other occasion, Castiel would have happily and enthusiastically returned a kiss from Dean. In fact, he’s been waiting for him to make a move since long before he fully gave up his grace for a mortal life. It’s not like Castiel didn’t give up all of Heaven to live as a Winchester specifically because of the influence Dean has had on him. No, absolutely not.

But the fact of the matter had been that they had just finished an annoying hunt and the timing was entirely inappropriate. It certainly didn’t help that Castiel was covered in all manner of dirt and grime from having actually crawled _under_ the abandoned house in search of bones to burn. And Dean had ectoplasm smeared across his face when the ghost decided to randomly explode in front of him. It was less a malevolent spirit and more of a trickster, but they still had to get rid of it before the house would be demolished to make way for what was apparently going to be a new primary school.

Their first kiss was _not_ going to taste like ectoplasm and cobwebs. Castiel so bodily refused to let it happen that he fell down the stairs to avoid it and that’s how they ended up here. Dean, understandably, freaked out at the fall and has since made no mention of the attempted kiss. Which has made Castiel more than a little nervous. What if he read the situation wrong and Dean _wasn’t_ trying to kiss him? What if he’s read every moment between them wrong and Dean actually has no plans on _ever_ kissing him? Worse yet, what if his reaction leads Dean to believe that Castiel isn’t interested and he never tries for it again?

It’s safe to say that the pain of his ankle (and ache of the rest of his body), coupled with his mental anguish over the whole situation has led Castiel to being… grumpy. That’s one way to put it, certainly. Dean has had many choice words about his attitude, all of which he grumbles under his breath whenever he lends a helping hand. Sam has wisely kept to himself and Castiel has hardly seen him since they got back from the hospital last night.

“I’m going to go get lunch ready.” Dean pauses at the door of the room they’ve re-purposed into a TV room. “Is there anything else you need before I go, or does his highness have any special requests?”

Castiel fixes him with a withering glare. That’s apparently answer enough. Dean throws his hands in the air and all but storms out of the room, muttering to himself again. After a few minutes where it’s apparent that he won’t be returning immediately, Castiel allows himself to sink further into the couch. His sigh is a miserable one. It’s times like this that he misses his grace the most. If he was still an Angel, he never would have gotten hurt in the first place.

Of course, because the universe hates him, less than ten minutes pass before his very Human bladder decides to make its presence known. Castiel groans and rubs his hands over his face. Mindful of the twinge in his left wrist, he reaches for the crutch. There’s no time to practice with it. He’ll just have to figure out how to use it, otherwise he’s going to make a mess of the couch and Dean will never forgive him if he does that.

The effort to get upright is astounding and Castiel wobbles in place while balanced on a single foot. He keeps his right knee bent and his ankle elevated behind him. Any padding the crutch might have had at one time is pointless now as it digs painfully into his armpit. Luckily, it’s an appropriate height for him. This would have been more difficult if it was too tall or too short. He’s never used one before and if he’s ever seen one used, he can’t remember. His memories have become... _limited_ with his grace gone.

With the crutch under his right arm, which seems the most logical place to put it given that it’s his right leg he can’t use, he tries taking a step. Castiel swings the crutch forward as far as he would a normal step, and then tries to follow it with his good leg. Before he can even take the weight off his good leg, the crutch’s foot slides across the floor. It shoots out further than he anticipated and his weight isn’t evenly distributed anymore.

Sam is the first to the door at the resulting crash, because of course Castiel takes down the side table too. Or it might have been his shout of surprise, followed by his cry of pain when he hit the floor. Whatever it was, there’s stars dancing in his eyes and his ankle is downright _throbbing_.

“Holy shit, Cas, are you okay?” Sam helps him sit up. “What happened?”

“I tried walking with that piece of –” His swear devolves into a hiss as he moves his ankle. Is it possible for him to break it _more_ than he already did?

Before Sam can say anything, Dean is in the room too. There’s a panicked look in his eyes as he takes in the two of them on the floor and the crutch laid out where it had fallen. He doesn’t say a word, but instead crouches to get his hands under Castiel’s arms. With Sam’s help, they get him up onto his good foot again. Sam supports most of his weight while Dean fetches the crutch, but Castiel only glares at it when he holds it out to him.

“I’m not using it.”

“Because you fell?” He raises an eyebrow that somehow portrays both confusion and annoyance. “So you failed once and now you’re not going to try?”

Castiel is _very_ good at giving dirty looks and he levels Dean with one now. “Because it digs in under my arm and it _hurts_.” He doesn’t want to admit that he also, apparently, doesn’t know how to use it. People have been using crutches for millennia without falling down and he obviously must have used it wrong to have it fail as spectacularly as it did.

It only takes a few moments of his disdainful squint before Dean gives up. He tosses the crutch back onto the couch. “Fine, princess, if that’s the way you’re going to be.”

“What way?” Sam looks between the two of them, clearly confused.

Dean shakes his head and points at the crutch. “Can you see about getting more padding put on that thing? Top and handle. I don’t care if you have to duct tape towels around it, just make it work.” He turns to Castiel with his hands on his hips. “And where were you trying to go?”

“To the bathroom.”

“Alright then.” He takes Castiel’s left arm and pulls it over his shoulders. His arm is like a brand around his waist; too hot even through two layers of clothing. “C’mon then. Let’s get hoppin’ before you make a mess in my rec room.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to grumble under his breath as he takes to hopping along next to Dean. He bears most of his weight while Castiel focuses on swinging his bad leg forward before taking a hop with his right. Is this what he was supposed to do with the crutch? Did he maybe have it on the wrong side? But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he have the crutch on his _good_ side when it’s his bad side that needs the support? He’ll have to read up on it. There’s a laptop by the couch that Dean brought for him, so he can do some research when he’s sitting again.

This method of Dean taking a small step forward and then Castiel hopping into place next to him takes _forever_ to get to the bathroom, and the rec room is the closest room to it! It’s annoying and pitiful and he _hates_ being like this. He hates being confined into this singular body when he used to be so _infinite_. Breaking his ankle has only served to remind him exactly what he gave up and just how fragile he truly is now.

He could have done without the reminder.

Dean walks him right to the toilet before leaving him to do his business. He returns while Castiel is washing his hands. Then it’s back to the step-hop method to return to the rec room. Sam and the crutch are nowhere to be seen. As before, Dean fusses with getting him settled. Checking that he didn’t hurt anything else when he fell and artfully arranging the pillows and blankets he’s absconded from the rest of the bunker to make him comfortable here.

The attention helps soothe Castiel’s grumpiness somewhat. He’s still annoyed that he got hurt in the first place, and he doesn’t feel like he needs to be fretted over like this, but it’s – it’s _nice_. Whether it’s a sense of guilt for causing the fall, or his need to mother everyone around him, Dean is still an excellent caregiver. It’s enough to make Castiel feel bad for his attitude.

Before Dean goes back to making their lunches, he pulls from his pocket the bottle of pain medication the hospital had prescribed and shakes two out onto Castiel’s palm. He hands him the glass of water from the other side-table that managed to escape the earlier fall. “Take these. It’ll help.”

Castiel knocks them back quickly. Hopefully they’ll be as effective as what the hospital gave him last night when they were setting his ankle. Dean waits for him to be done before taking the water to return it to the coaster.

He lingers in the doorway, a frown creasing his forehead. “I’ll be back with lunch in ten. You think you can keep from hurting yourself until then?”

Never mind. Castiel is still angry.

* * *

 

“I am _not_ sleeping on the couch.”

“It’s the closest room to the bathroom! What if you have to go in the middle of the night?” Dean gestures angrily at the door. “You gonna slide your ass down the _whole hall_?” He grabs the crutch that Sam had indeed duct taped hand towels to and shakes it at Castiel. “Or are you actually going to _use_ this fuckin’ thing? I’m not getting up at ass o’clock in the morning to spend half an hour helping you hobble your ass down the hall because you want to sleep in your stupid bed.”

Castiel crosses his arms and glowers at the crutch. He’s tried a number of times since lunch to practice with it or get to the bathroom himself, but either he’s doing something wrong or – Honestly, he doesn’t know. There’s no good reason for why he hasn’t been able to mimic Sam’s demonstration on how he’s supposed to use it. And he has _tried_.

Yes, it’s supposed to be on his good side and not on his weak side. And yes, he is now aware that he should be taking _small_ steps with it and not his usual bigger ones. But he continues to fail at getting anywhere with the damn thing and Dean has been his main source of support for getting back and forth from the rec room to the bathroom. Luckily, he hasn’t needed _that_ much assistance, but still. It’s embarrassing to not be able to walk on his own when there’s a readily available option that he just apparently _sucks entirely_ at using.

“It’ll take me just as long to get to the bathroom from here with _that_ thing than it would to get from my bedroom on my own.” He knows he’s sulking, and he knows he’s being a brat as he turns his nose up at the crutch, but he just can’t stop it.

Dean throws the crutch down on the couch and storms out of the room, leaving Castiel to stand awkwardly with the wall supporting him. This is it. This is the point where Dean gives up on him. The chances of him coming back are slim and it’s more likely that Sam will show up instead. He isn’t half as stubborn as Dean and he’ll help Castiel to his bedroom. In fact, Sam might even be nice enough to wake up in the middle of the night and help him to the bathroom if he needs it.

But Castiel doesn’t _want_ to be burden on his friends – on his _family_. They’re all he has left. But his ankle hurts, his body aches, and that brief flash of hurt on Dean’s face right before he fell down the stairs weighs heavy on his mind. His bad mood can be attributed to all those things, but he should still have a better control of himself. He was once ancient and he’s acting like a _child_.

After a few long minutes, Castiel resigns himself to having to use the crutch. Which is mildly terrifying because he doesn’t want to have another fall like earlier. But before he can even begin reaching for it, Dean is back. His expression is stormy and it’s enough for Castiel to feel sufficiently cowed. Dean has gone to great lengths to take care of him today and he’s done nothing but be a brat for it.

He deserves an apology, and it’s on the tip of his tongue, but all that comes out is a quiet; “Huh?” as Dean turns on his heel and crouches in front of him.

“Get on.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“I’m sick of the step-hop bullshit.” Dean glances over his shoulder once before looking away sharply. “It takes forever. If you’re going to be a stubborn asshole about not using the crutch and sleeping in your room, then I’m giving you a fucking piggy-back ride so it doesn’t take as long.”

Castiel hesitates. Dean has already done so much for him today and this is just – this is too much. He’s owed some gratitude for the shitty attitude he’s had to put up with today. And Castiel can just use the crutch. If he takes it slow – _glacially_ slow – then he should be alright.

But Dean makes another of his annoyed huffs and holds his hands out behind him. “C’mon, Cas. I’m not getting any younger here.”

Against his better judgment, and maybe because he _likes_ being close to Dean a little more than he should, Castiel leans forward. He braces a hand on one broad shoulder to lower himself slowly until his chest is pressed against Dean’s back and he can loops his arms around his shoulders. Dean stays hunched forward as he stands up until he can cup his hands under Castiel’s thighs so his legs settle comfortably around his hips. With little to no effort, Dean stands up straight and staggers only slightly on the way out of the rec room.

This would be the ideal time to try and mend whatever bridges have been burned in the fiery train wreck that has been this whole _incident_. Knowing Dean, he would appreciate something more humorous than serious. It takes Castiel half the walk to his bedroom to think of something he deems somewhat appropriate.

“Um –” He clears his throat and keeps his voice quiet, if only because his mouth is obscenely close to Dean’s ear. “Ride ‘em, cowboy?”

Of all responses, Castiel expected a derisive snort, or a barking laugh. He does _not_ expect Dean to stumble hard enough that they both almost go to the floor. The scarlet blush that stains the back of his neck is just as surprising. Castiel fancies that he can almost _feel_  the heat coming off of Dean’s ears. He’s never seen him blush like _this_ before – if ever, really. Dean gets flustered, occasionally, but he certainly doesn’t _blush_ often.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel murmurs and rests his chin on his shoulder. “I thought a joke would ease the tension.” He sighs and closes his eyes as they reach his bedroom. “So that I could apologize properly for my behaviour. I haven’t been easy to deal with today.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” The eye-roll is audible in Dean’s voice. “But thanks.”

He kicks the door open and very gently deposits Castiel onto the bed. Dean runs a hand over the back of his neck and looks at everything in the room except for him. After several moments of silence, he seems to deflate and slumps to sit next to him. “Can I ask you something?”

Castiel suspects that he can make a shot in the dark about this pending topic. “Is it about yesterday?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods and scrubs his fingers through his hair. Despite being the one to bring it up, it still takes him a surprisingly long time to actually drum up the courage to speak. “Why did you –? When I tried to –? I mean, do you even want –?”

Sadly, he seems to be having trouble with the ability to finish his sentences. Castiel takes pity on him and gently places his hand on Dean’s knee. “You had ectoplasm all over your face and I’m pretty sure I had at least one spider in my hair.” He sways to the side until their shoulders bump. “Things between us have been building up for a long time. Don’t you think we deserve something a little more special?”

There’s the sharp, surprised laugh that he had been expecting before. Dean breaks into a wide grin and his hand drops to cover Castiel’s. “But it totally would’ve suited _us_ , don’t you think?” He sighs and leans into Castiel’s side too. “We ganked that ghost and when I looked at you after, all dirty and grinning like we’d saved the damn world again – Man, I just _really_ wanted to kiss you.”

While Dean does have a point, there’s something glaringly apparent that he appears to be missing. “I hate to point out the obvious, but you still can.”

Dean goes still and his next breath seems to catch in his throat. He tilts his head to catch Castiel’s eye and his smile turns soft. “Yeah, I guess I can, huh?”

He hums an affirmative and leans in, gaze dipping to focus on Dean’s lips.

In all honesty, Castiel probably shouldn’t be rewarded for his behaviour today. Even so, he still gets that perfect first kiss he wanted.

**END**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Male OC
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for language), AU-modern
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _monarchmish: Cas is a cyclist heading home. Dean angrily driving home after having caught his now ex in bed with someone else. He fails to see Cas and accidentally totals his bike with no injuries to Cas. They exchange numbers so Dean can get Cas a new bike. Eventually they become friends._

**PROMPT #5**

Dean slams the door behind him as hard as he fucking can, satisfied when he hears something fall off the wall. Hopefully it broke. Martin deserves having to clean up some kind of mess since their relationship is officially over. That’s five months of his life he’s never going to get back and Dean is just _pissed_. He’s never been so _mad_ in his life, or so heart broken, because he really did like Martin. They had fun together and now – Well, now he would apparently rather fuck his co-worker behind his back.

It’s one thing if they had been having problems or something, but they weren’t. At least not that Dean knew of. Things were going _great_ with Martin, up until tonight. Up until he let himself into his apartment with the key he kept above the door, just like he told Dean he could. He was a little earlier than planned, but he had texted Martin about it and he hadn’t said anything against it. Turns out he couldn’t. Kinda hard to text when your hands are tied to the headboard and a woman is sitting on your face.

His phone rings as he’s getting into the car. Martin’s number and his crooked smile fills the screen. Dean rolls his eyes and answers it. Martin is crying apologies before he even gets the phone to his ear, begging him to come back and they can work it out because this was just a _mistake_. If Dean wasn’t still seeing red, he might have considered it. But he can hear the co-worker in the background, grumbling about how she didn’t know Martin was gay. They’re both _bisexual_ , actually, but Dean doesn’t want to argue with her and he doesn’t want to talk to Martin. Ever.

“Nope, no. I’m not coming back and there’s nothing to talk about.” Dean cuts Martin off while he starts the Impala. “You cheated on me. End of story. We’re done.”

“Babe, no, come on.” Martin hiccups and pitches into a breathy whine – the kind he’s used before to get his way whenever they had arguments before. “I made a mistake and we can work through this.”

Dean’s stomach twists because part of him _does_ want to go back, but then his chest aches because he _did_ like Martin. A lot. He rests his forehead against the steering wheel and shakes his head. “This isn’t just _one_ mistake, and if you don’t understand that then you should probably Google the comedian Drew Michael and his show where he talked about cheating.”

Martin makes a confused noise, but Dean talks over him. “I’m not coming back. We’re through. Don’t contact me again and throw out whatever shit I’ve ever left at your place.” Which should be nothing, because Dean doesn’t leave anything important anywhere this early in a relationship. He waits until the first year milestone before he even considers something like that. “If you keep calling me, or texting me, then I’m blocking your number.”

Before Martin can say anything else, Dean hangs up. His hands are still shaking and he’s not really in a state where he should be driving, but he still changes gears and pulls out of his spot in visitor parking. The vindictive voice in the back of his head tells him that at least he’s never going to have to try and find parking at this stupid complex again, but that doesn’t make him feel any better. His chest hurts and his nose stings and _fuck_ he’s not going to cry. He’s not going to give Martin the satisfaction of it.

But a few still sneak through before he makes it home. Dean viciously rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, blinding himself momentarily – which, in hindsight, is not a good thing when you’re driving through a neighbourhood. He doesn’t see the flashing lights of the crosswalk, or the cyclist walking his bike across the street. Well, he _does_ see them, but it’s just a little too late. Dean swears loudly and slams on his brakes. The screech of tires on cement is overshadowed by the groan and thump of aluminum underneath his car.

He almost breaks the gear shift putting the Impala in park. His feet try to trip him up as he stumbles out of the car and runs around it, praying to any and all deity that he didn’t just kill someone because he was _crying_. The cyclist in question is sitting on his ass a couple feet from the Impala’s front bumper, staring at what mangled corpse of his bike can be seen under the car.

“Oh my _God_.” Dean is at his side in a heartbeat, crouching with hovering hands because he’s afraid to touch and find out that he might have broken something in the poor guy. “Are you okay? I’m _so_ fucking sorry, holy _shit_.”

The guy blinks up at him from under his helmet. His padded gloves probably protected his hands from getting scraped up in the fall, but his knees and elbows are vulnerable. Not to mention that if Dean actually _hit_ him, then the impact could have broken something that he just can’t see right now. The guy looks like he cycles for a living with the tight shorts and the shirt and one of those backpacks that cling to their back and everything.

“Please use your words so I know I didn’t knock you stupid.” Dean helps him to his feet and tries giving him a quick look over for anything like a broken bone or road rash. Martin and everything from earlier this evening is all but completely forgotten.

A frown pulls across the cyclist’s face and he tilts his head. “You were crying.”

Dean freezes in his inspection. He straightens up slowly and it’s his turn to frown. “What?”

The guy leans in slightly and Dean leans away. “Your eyes are red. You were crying, weren’t you?” He angles his head like that’s going to somehow give him a better view. “Is that why you didn’t see me crossing the street?”

“Uh.” Dean doesn’t really want to admit it, but yes, that is exactly it. And fuck him for being so goddamn _obvious_ about it. He looks away. More specifically at the front tire of the bike sticking out from under the car. “I’m sorry about your bike.”

“You should move your car.” Cyclist-Guy turns and steps back up onto the sidewalk. “You’re blocking traffic and I’d like to see what damage you’ve done to my bike.”

It’s probably unsalvageable, but Dean doesn’t want to point that out just yet. He winces and gets back in the Impala. Hopefully this didn’t fuck up her undercarriage. Maybe he should just go straight to Bobby’s from here, after he’s taken care of everything to do with Cyclist-Guy, and make sure that he didn’t fuck up his car too. _Fuck_. As if today didn’t suck enough already.

Dean reverses off the bike rather than pull forward and drag the thing underneath the Impala even more. That could damage her worse than she already is. He already knows that he’s going to have to fix some scratches that the bike caused. Part of him wants to be upset about that because of how protective he is of his car, but he can’t really be mad given that he’s the one who fucked up. And now this guy is out a bike and Dean hopes to God that it isn’t his only means of transportation.

Once he’s officially pulled over on the side of the road and not parked on top of Cyclist-Guy’s bike, Dean turns the car off and gets out again. He only pauses long enough to grab his registration and the notebook (with pen) that he keeps in the glove compartment. True, he didn’t hit another car, but Dean is still going to insist that he takes his information. If the bike is insured, which would be weird but not unheard of, then maybe the guy will be able to make a claim.

Cyclist-Guy is crouching over his bike, which is bent and warped so badly that there’s _no way_ it’s going to ride again. He doesn’t look that bothered by it, surprisingly, but Dean still feels fucking horrible. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs and stands up. “I’m okay and you’re okay, so that’s what matters.”

“Yeah, but –” Dean shifts on his feet and holds out the notebook. “Here. Give me your information and I’ll write down mine for you too. You can claim the damages and –”

That earns him a weird look and another head tilt. “It’s just a bike.”

“It looked expensive.”

“Well, it wasn’t _cheap_.” A small smile quirks in the corner of the guy’s mouth. “I don’t have insurance for it or anything, so don’t worry. You’re off the hook.”

Dean shakes his head and flips the notebook open. He starts writing down his information – name, phone number, and car registration details. “And what happens if I ended up giving you whiplash or something and you have to go to the hospital?” When he’s done, he rips the paper out and offers it to the guy. “Seriously. Take this. You don’t have to use it, but I’ll feel better knowing you have it just in case something _does_ happen.”

“If you insist.” The guy takes it and glances at it. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” He holds the notebook out again. “Because I want your information too.”

Cyclist-Guy pauses in the process of tucking the paper away in his backpack. He raises an eyebrow at him. “And what good is that going to do you?”

That’s a very good question and Dean thinks about it for a minute. “Because I want to replace your bike. I fucked it up since I’m stupid as shit.” He sighs as Cyclist-Guy accepts the notebook. “Seriously. I’m _so_ sorry. I’ve never – This is the first time – I –”

“As I said, don’t worry about it.” Cyclist-Guy takes a moment to jot down some information and when he hands it back, Dean glances at it to make sure that it’s not just a note to tell him to fuck off. When he squints at the name scribbled neatly above a phone number, Cyclist-Guy actually laughs. “It’s pronounced Castiel.”

“Oh, okay. That’s –” Weird. “Unique?”

Cyclist-Guy-now-Castiel- _Cas_ just shrugs again. He fixes his backpack back in place and bends down to pick up his bike again. “It is what it is. I should get going and find the nearest dumpster to throw this in.”

“There’s one at my apartment.” The words are out of his mouth and it takes a minute for him to even realize the implications of what he said. He winces and waves off the odd look Cas gives him. “I mean, like, I can take the bike. Would it be weird of me to offer to give you a ride home since I just fucked up your bike beyond recognition?”

Cas blinks down at his bike before tilting an amused little smile at him. “I’m not sure about you, but I can still tell that this was once upon a time a functioning bicycle.” He hefts it with an arm under the frame. “I don’t live too far from here. Thank you for the offer, but I can walk the rest of the way.”

“Right, duh, of course.” Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I really am _so_ sorry about this. I should’ve been –”

“It’s fine.” Cas leans over to hit the crosswalk button again. “But you should probably keep your eyes on the road at all times in the future. For the safety of the rest of mankind and their bicycles.”

At no point would Dean have thought that the guy he just hit with his car would make him fucking _laugh_ , but it happens. He snorts an actual _giggle_ and Cas actually puffs up like he’s _pleased_ with himself for doing it. With a short goodbye and a glance in both directions, Cas heads off across the street like it’s no big deal that he’s carrying his ruined bike. Dean isn’t sure what he waits for, exactly, but he doesn’t get back into his car until Cas is safely across the street.

He still doesn’t drive away for another few minutes. When he does, he’s too distracted with thinking about what happened (or soft blue eyes and the smile that went with them) to even remember Martin again until he gets home.

* * *

 

**_Hey Cas this is the dick with the sweet car that totaled your bike on Sunday._ **

**_Have I said I’m sorry about that yet?_ **

**_Because I AM sorry, btw…_ ** _  
Read 2:20pm_

_Hello Dean._

_You really don’t have to keep apologizing for that._

**_I really, really do! I can’t tell you how bad I feel about it._ **

**_Seriously I’ve never done that before. I’m usually a really careful driver.  
_ ** _Read 2:28pm_

_Of course you are. (I promise I’m not being facetious)._

_People with classic cars like yours tend to be very careful with them._

_It’s a very nice car, by the way._

**_You don’t have to flatter my car to get a new bike outta me, Cas._ **

**_I’m already going to buy you a new one. Promise!  
_ ** _Read 2:32pm_

_The sentiment is appreciated, but you really don’t have to._

**_I really do._ **

**_And I want to._ **

**_For my guilty conscience at the very least!_ ** _  
Read 2:36pm_

_Is that why you texted me?_

**_Damn right it is. How else am I going to know where to buy it?_ **

**_And I don’t want to pick one out for you. I want you to pick it. I’ll pay for it.  
_ ** _Read 2:44pm_

_I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?_

**_Nope and you can blame my parents for that._ **

**_They raised me to right wrongs and vanquish evil._ **

**_Evil in this case being me.  
_ ** _Read 2:50pm_

_XD_

_Fine! If you insist. XP_

_Are you free this Saturday?_

**_Did you just emoticon me?_ **

**_Holy shit I haven’t seen those since MSN Messenger in high school LOL!_ **

**_I’m free after 1pm. You wanna meet at the store? (You’ll have to give me the address…)_ **

**_Or I could pick you up at the intersection where I almost killed you…_ ** _  
Read 3:05pm_

_You didn’t almost kill me. I don’t even have a bruise!_

_Don’t you dare mock my emoticons… I like them._

_I’ll send you the address later and I’ll meet you there. Does 2pm work for you?_

**_Yep that works find for me._ **

**_I’ll see you then!_ ** _  
Read 3:14pm_

* * *

 

Dean has his hands in the pockets of his old leather jacket while he follows Cas back and forth between the rows of bikes. Cas looks entirely different in regular non-cyclist-extraordinaire clothing. His hair is a perfect mess without a helmet hiding it (said helmet is hanging from his backpack), and his jeans are probably just as tight as his shorts were. Dean has very pointedly _not_ been looking at his ass every time Cas bends over to squeeze a tire or fiddle with a pedal or whatever the hell it is that he does whenever he’s not standing upright. Not looking at his ass means not looking in his general direction, so Dean doesn’t really know.

“I can split the cost with you.” Cas speaks up for the first time since they greeted each other at the shop’s door. He turns away from the bike he’d been inspecting and starts down the line to whichever one catches his eye next. “A mountain bike isn’t exactly _cheap_.”

“Nope. I fucked up your last bike and I’m going to get you a new one.” Dean pats his pocket where his wallet is kept. “You just get one that you like, and I’m going to trust you in picking one that isn’t insanely more expensive than your last one.”

Cas tilts his head at him and there’s a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “You’ll have no idea if I pick one that is or isn’t, will you?”

“Wouldn’t even have the first idea of it.”

That’s answered with a hum that might be a laugh, or could be one of interest because Cas stops – yet again – at another bike. This one he pulls off the standing rack and swings a leg over to put his foot on a pedal. He actually rides it halfway down the aisle before getting off and walking it back.

“This one will do.” He starts walking towards the front of the store, the bike rolling smoothly along beside him.

Dean follows after him. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Cas glances back over his shoulder with that same smirk as before. “You might not recognize it since it isn’t bent completely out of shape, but it’s the same model as my last one.”

Now that’s interesting. Why wouldn’t he have just gone straight for this the moment they got here? Why did he spend – Dean glances at his watch – twenty minutes checking out other bikes if he knew this was the one that he wanted to get? Part of him wants to question it, but he decides against it.

After refusing all attempts of up-selling by the sales associate, and several hundred dollars later, they step out of the store together. Dean holds the door open for Cas to wheel his bike out carefully. He drops the kickstand and swings his backpack off his shoulder.

“Well, thank you for this, Dean. I really appreciate it.” Cas pulls his gloves out and un-clips his helmet. “I hate taking the bus and I look forward to being able to bike to and from work again.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He shrugs and leans against the side of the Impala while Cas gets himself ready to go. “And thanks for being so cool about this. Anyone else would have screamed at me and probably sued my ass for emotional damages or some shit on top of replacing the bike.”

Cas shakes his head with a smile. “Aren’t you lucky that you hit someone as understanding as me?”

“I’d rather have not hit _anyone_.” Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “But, yeah. I’m glad it was someone like you.”

With the kickstand back up again, Cas swings up onto the bike. He frowns slightly and looks down. “I’m going to have to adjust the seat when I get home.” That must not be a big deal because he shrugs and leans forward to cross his arms over the handlebar. “If you don’t mind, I do have one question before we part ways.”

Dean nods and sweeps his hand out in a _go-ahead_ gesture.

“Why were you crying?”

That’s not exactly what he was expecting. To be fair, he didn’t know _what_ to expect since he hardly knows Cas besides a couple conversations via text message and their two meetings. He groans and drops his head back. It hasn’t been a great week what with Martin _not_ leaving him alone like Dean wanted him to. Luckily, they didn’t actually share a circle of friends, so no one else has really been affected by this besides the two of them – and Sam, who has unfortunately been Dean’s bitching soundboard all week.

“You don’t have to answer.” Cas hums softly and sits upright again. “I understand if it’s a difficult topic and you don’t want to talk about it.”

He shakes his head and waves his hand. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just a shitty situation because –” Dean huffs and crosses his arms, shifting on his feet. He’s maybe a little bit embarrassed that he had _cried_ over this whole stupid thing. “Because I had just caught my boyfriend cheating on me.”

Now here comes the pity train because that’s all he’s gotten from anyone he’s told the story too. Dean doesn’t want pity. He doesn’t want anything. All he wants is for this all to blow over and for Martin to leave him the fuck alone. The multiple daily text messages and voicemails are getting annoying, especially since Dean hasn’t answered a single one of them.

“Oh.” Cas winces and ducks his head, like he’s sorry he asked. “That _does_ sound like a shitty situation.” And then he doesn’t apologize, or try and placate Dean about how he’ll find someone better, or any of the other nonsense he’s been subjected to all week.

Instead, Cas double checks that his backpack is cinched properly around his waist and walks his bike forward through the break between the cement stoppers at the end of every parking spot in front of the store. “Thank you, again. Please try not to hit any other cyclists in the future.”

Dean snorts and steps away from the car. “Jokes on you, but I got _ten thousand points_ for knocking you down. Now I’m aiming for a million.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays him. He starts pedaling away and raises a hand over his shoulder in a wave. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“See ya, Cas.” After a moment, Dean steps after him and cups his hands around his mouth. “Try not to get hit by any other cars in the future!”

A laugh echoes back across the parking lot and Dean is grinning when he gets back in the car.

His phone beeps a few times in his pocket on his drive home and Dean doesn’t check it. After what happened with Cas, he’s been very adamant at keeping his eyes on the road when driving. One accident is enough to keep him on the edge of his seat for the rest of his goddamn life. This one was mild (bordering on _good_ ) but it could have been so much worse. It could have been _Cas_ under his wheels instead of his bike, and the idea has haunted him all week.

Once the Impala is firmly in park and shut off in his spot at his apartment, Dean takes his phone out. He half expects it to be Martin trying to get back together with him, but he’s surprised to find that the messages waiting are from Cas.

_I’ve changed my mind and I would like to collect emotional damages._

_The trauma you have caused can only be resolved by joining me for dinner tomorrow, if you’re free._

_And I promise you want have to pay for it. ;)_

**_Are you seriously asking out the guy who hit you with his car?_ ** _  
Read 3:01pm_

_Would it be entirely inappropriate of me to say yes?_

_I do realize that my timing might not be the best given that you JUST broke up with your boyfriend…_

**_Little bit, yeah._ **

**_But why the hell not?_ **

**_You made me laugh. I liked that. :)_ ** _  
Read 3:08pm_

_Don’t expect a lot of that. I’m routinely told that I’m not funny._

_And now who’s using emoticons, hm? :P_

 

Dean snorts and leans forward to rest his head against the steering wheel, if only to hide his smile. The only person around who _might_ see it is Sam (and only if he happens to be outside right now), and Dean doesn’t quite know how to explain that the guy he ran over last weekend is hitting on him. He has the feeling that if he _did_ have to explain it, he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face.

On top of making Dean laugh, Cas makes him smile and that’s just something he really needs in his life right now after Martin. He’s not going into this expecting anything, but he doesn’t really see a reason why he shouldn’t see where it goes? It could be fun.

**END**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  EXPLICIT, AU-modern, BDSM, sub/bottom!Dean, dom/top!Cas, spanking, bondage, collaring
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _themadkatter13: BDSM AU (Dom Cas / Sub Dean)_  
>  anon: Cas takes a life model drawing class and locks eyes with the model (Dean). They end up hooking up together afterwards.  
> 

**PROMPT #6**

Dean shifts on his feet in the waiting room, fiddling with the corded tie of the robe. His bare feet are cold on the tiles and he wiggles his toes to try and warm them up. Hopefully the other room will be warm, especially given that he’s going to be standing in there _naked_ for the next three hours. He memorized the little pamphlet of rules he was given and he runs over the min his head a few times more to help kill off the hoard of butterflies currently making a valiant attempt to make a home for themselves behind his ribs.

At first he’d been a little put off by the idea of being a _figure drawing model_ , but the money is good and he kinda needs it. And how could he _not_ snap up this chance when he heard that _this_ particular class was looking for a male model? It presented him with a rare opportunity that he couldn’t pass on, even if he’s a little nervous about the outcome. This could either be fucking _awesome_ , or ruin everything. He’ll find out in – Dean glances at the clock on the wall – five minutes.

The butterflies flutter even harder and he takes a deep breath. Right. The rules. He’s going to get to lie down draped across some table in front of a ton of art students. Since this is his first time modeling, the pose isn’t going to be horrifically strenuous or anything. Even so, Dean still gets a break every half an hour to stretch, have a drink, or hit the bathroom. And if he’s struggling to hold the pose, he can ask for a short moment to take a little break and rest his limbs.

No one is going to touch him or make comments about his body, thankfully, because he’s a little self-conscious about the soft spot under his belly button. Dean isn’t usually one for exhibitionism, but hopefully he doesn’t get turned on by having so many eyes on him – especially one particular set that may or may not be the entire reason that he’s here in the first place. Just thinking about that flash of blue and the way they had been focused on him last night sends a shiver of heat shaking through him.

Okay, wow, nope! Not the time. He’ll just have to focus on thinking really unsexy thoughts and _not_ pay any attention to those eyes while he’s out there. That’ll be difficult, but if Dean doesn’t want to have any awkward moments, then he had better keep his eyes to himself. Which is kinda what the pamphlet said anyways. It mentioned that making eye contact with the artists was frowned upon because that could make things awkward and yeah, he totally understands where they’re coming from on that.

A knock at the door nearly gives him a heart attack and Dean pats at his chest a few times to help himself calm down. He stands up from the little couch they have in the waiting room and shuffles over to crack the door open. Charlie, the coordinator for the class, is standing on the other side. Her hair is up and she already has a smudge of paint down her cheek.

“You ready to go?” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at where the artists are still getting settled. “I’m going to give you a little bit of an introduction, and then help you get settled on the display.”

It’s now or never. Dean nods and opens the door completely, his heart already in his throat. “I’m still wearing my boxers. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to take them off here or up there or –?”

“Here is fine. Just leave them with the rest of your clothes.” Charlie turns on her heel and starts across the room again. “No one is going to touch your stuff.”

Right then. Dean steps further into the privacy of the waiting room – or is it technically a changing room? – and quickly drops his boxers. He tosses them onto his pile of clothes before heading out into the open room. Even though he tries not to look, he still steals a little glance around to see if Cas is – Yup, he’s here and he’s focused on getting set up at his easel instead of looking at the model. Awesome! This is going to be a hell of a surprise then.

“Alright, everyone!” Charlie claps her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “I’d like to introduce you all to our life model for today. Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Dean?”

At that, Cas’s head snaps up. Dean can’t stop himself from smiling as he steps up onto the platform where Charlie is waiting for him. He bites his bottom lip and gives an awkward little wave to the rest of the room, not really settling on looking at any one person.

“Putting me on the spot already, huh?” Dean winks at Charlie and she rolls her eyes. They’ve gotten to know each other a little bit when he applied for the life model position, but they’re not exactly _friends_.

“So, a little about myself?” He tucks his hands behind him and rocks back and forth on his heels. “Well, I turned twenty-six last month, I’m an Aquarius, I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky brunets with blue eyes to die for.”

That last bit he says while making direct eye contact with Cas. Dean keeps it brief and looks away before anyone can notice and put two-and-two together. The look is just long enough to note how Cas’s eyes darken and narrow in a squint. A thrill tickles up his spine and he hides it with a big grin at the rest of the room, and finally at Charlie.

“Thanks for that little introduction, Dean.” She snorts and waves a hand at his robe while turning him around. “Now let’s get started. We’re going to do a few warm up poses, whatever you feel like doing, that you’ll hold for about a minute at a time. The students will do some really rough sketches to get a feel for the shape of your body. After about five poses, we’ll get you set up for the main event.” And at that she tilts her head to the low table behind him, artfully covered in blankets, pillows, and sheets. “I do have a portable heater over here if you get a cold. Just let me know and I’ll turn it on.”

Dean bobs his head in understanding and keeps his back to the room while his fingers fumble with the knot of the robe’s tie. He’s nervous for a number of reasons, but primarily it’s because of what he’s about to reveal. The only person who knows what he sometimes hides under his clothing is sitting behind him; watching with tense shoulders and mouth drawn into a hard line. Dean definitely overstepped a boundary by surprising Cas in this particular setting. But he knew he would and that’s entirely why he came here.

The artists are supposed to not react to anything about the model’s body in these classes, but Dean still hears a few quiet gasps when he removes the robe and hands it off to Charlie. Even she looks surprised and her eyebrows come together in a little frown when she takes in the marks on his skin. No one outright says anything, but Dean can practically _feel_ Cas’s eyes raking over the telltale bruises on his hips and the crisscrossing reminders of what they did last night.

Since Dean doesn’t say anything about them, no one does, even if they can’t stop staring at them. He decides he might as well start and adopts the classic _Usain Bolt_ pose for lack of any better ideas. It still takes a few moments too long before the sound of pencils scratching across paper starts up. Apparently everyone is still pretty distracted by the red lines of _rope burn_ running across his torso and arms in a very particular pattern.

If they had used the softer rope, Dean wouldn’t have any marks to show, but he had specifically asked Cas to use the rougher stuff. Not only does he kind of enjoy the pain when they’re pulled too tight and rub his skin raw, but he _wanted_ the marks. He knew exactly what seeing them would do to Cas. It’s obvious even from here, with his head turned to the side just enough so that he can see him from the corner of his eye.

He works his way through a series of other poses that bring him around to face the class. Of his poses, he has to bring in the use of a chair to pull off both _The Thinker_ and _The Captain Morgan_. The ever popular _Strong Man_ where he flexes all his muscles and raises his arms above his head was a bit of a difficult one and he is _so_ happy that his actual pose for the day will involve him lying down.

Once Charlie is satisfied, she claps her hands and directs Dean towards the table. “Okay, class. We’re working with charcoals today. Do your sketches on the canvas in pencil to get the base of your drawing.”

Dean goes where Charlie tells him and lies down on his side amongst the pillows. She grabs one of the sheets and carefully arranges it to spill over his hip and part of his legs, leaving his dick still on full display for the whole class to see. Nobody really seems to care about that and any shock they had over the binding marks has faded. Everyone is focused now on their easels and canvas, Cas included.

Even though he shouldn’t, Dean really can’t help watching Cas back. He’s facing forward with his head on his arm over the pillows and the other one arched over his head. Too bad they’re not working with paints today, because Dean would _love_ to crack the _paint me like one of your French girls_ joke. Cas might not laugh because he still looks pissed, but he would probably appreciate it at least a little bit.

* * *

 

The sharp slap of skin on skin rings out in the room. Dean jerks forward, more from the force of the slap than in an attempt to escape it. He swallows a moan, knowing that if he shows that he’s actually _enjoying_ the punishment will make Cas get creative. Granted, his cock is heavy and dripping under him and that’s proof enough. Cas still isn’t saying anything – hasn’t said a word since he walked in the front door and all but dragged Dean to the bedroom by the collar of his shirt.

He strains against his binding and gasps at the sting of the next slap. Tears prick his eyes and he tucks his face into the pillow to hide them. He shivers when he feels Cas shift next to him, the bed dipping slightly as he moves off of it and then again on the other side of him when he returns. With some effort, Dean keeps himself from moving as a callused hand draws over his other ass cheek. It hasn’t been slapped yet and Cas fixes that a moment later; not letting up until that cheek is just as red as the first.

Dean’s breath is ragged and hot against the fabric of the pillow. He goes still and stops breathing when he feels soft lips against his ear. “Do you know why you’re being punished, Dean? I want you to answer me with your words.”

“Y-ye- ** _es_**!”

Another slap comes in the middle of his reply, shattering the answer. Cas hums and Dean flinches at the pop of a cap being opened. “I couldn’t hear you, Dean. You’re talking into the pillow. Answer again. Tell me _why_ you’re being punished.”

With some difficulty, he turns his face out of the pillow. It gives him an excellent view of Cas pulling on a latex glove and coating his fingers with lube. Oh shit, oh _fuck_. He totally knows what’s going to happen next and if Dean didn’t have their spreader-bar between his knees, he’d spread his legs even further apart in anticipation.

“Because I –” Dean breaks off with a squeak at the first brutal _two finger_ breach. He’s still a little loose from yesterday, but it burns in the best of ways.

Cas stops immediately, fingers buried up to the knuckle. He raises an eyebrow at him, waiting.

“G-green.” He shivers and tries hard not to move back against those fingers. If Dean shows how much he wants it, he’ll be denied it.

Satisfied, Cas slides his fingers out slowly, fingertips dragging against Dean’s insides. A heartbeat later and he shoves them back in. “Finish answering my question, Dean.”

“I-I’m being punished –” Dean trembles violently as Cas starts up a brutal pace while finger-fucking him. “Because – because I didn’t tell y-you I signed up as a life model f-for your art class.” He sucks in a shuddering breath and squirms against his bindings.

Cas rewards him by angling his wrist and rubbing over his prostate a few times. “And?”

And it’s getting increasingly difficult to answer him. Dean can hardly breathe and he feels like he’s going to boil alive in his skin. The worst thing is that it’s not enough. He wants _more_ – needs it; _craves_ it. The sting of pain; the delirious feel of being restrained and completely at Cas’s mercy; of being _owned_. God, he needs it like he needs air.

When he doesn’t continue, Cas adds a third finger and delivers another sharp slap. He follows it up with a harsh bite to the curve of Dean’s ass, hard enough that it’s not only going to bruise but his teeth have most definitely left their mark in his skin. It didn’t sting like the skin was broken, but Dean still whines deep in his throat and hunches his shoulders against the pain.

“ _Green_.” He hisses, letting Cas know he didn’t go too far. “And – and – and I showed everyone what you – you do to me.”

 “I don’t _do_ anything to you that you don’t _want_ , Dean.” Cas reminds him, voice soft and rumbling like thunder in the distance.

But Cas is selfish and jealous and possessive. He doesn’t like people seeing or knowing what kind of relationship they have because that’s for _him_. On the surface, their relationship is disgustingly domestic and the wedding band on their ring fingers is the only claim he wants Dean to wear in public. Behind the bedroom door, however, is something just for _them_. Everything else – every mark, every bruise, every bite – only _Cas_ gets to see them; make them; love them.

He spreads his fingers wide and Dean’s back arches at the too-good burn of it. “You _wanted_ to be punished, didn’t you? You _wanted_ everyone to see that you belong to _someone_.” The fingers of his free hand hook in the back of the worn leather collar around Dean’s neck; the first thing Cas ever bought for him that led them to _here_. “Did you want to wear this in front of them too? Did you want to show them that you belong to _me_?”

The pull on the collar drags Dean up from his folded position on the bed. His hands spasm where they’re tied together in the small of his back, clenching at air. Without the pillow in the way, Dean can at least manage a nod of the head in response. He’s a lit match now and there’s no way he’s going to be able to make words, let alone actually _think_.

Cas’s lips are at his ear, brushing it with every hushed word. “Are you going to do something like that again, Dean?” When he shakes his head, he can _feel_ Cas’s smile in answer. “And are you going to be good for me, Dean?” His rapid nodded response earns him another brutal rub against his prostate, making him tremble violently.

After what feels like an eternity of Cas’s breath in his ear and his fingers bringing Dean right to the edge, he finally pulls away. He whimpers and clenches at the emptiness inside him. God but he wants Cas pressed against him; wants his cock buried deep and filling him. But of course that’s not what he’s going to get. This is a _punishment_ and it’s not that if he gets what he wants.

With steady hands and sure fingers, Cas undoes the cuffs of the spreader-bar and gently takes it away. He helps Dean lie back down on his stomach, making sure he’s comfortable. Coincidentally, he also has a good view of Cas cleaning up the clothing he’d all but ripped off him earlier. Cas takes his time wiping down the spreader-bar of any errant lube or pre-come that might have dripped on it, before putting it away in the massive trunk they keep locked at the foot of their bed.

Dean can’t help rocking his hips against the bedspread, seeking some form of friction. He was _so close_ and his orgasm is just tantalizingly out of reach. It won’t take much to push him over the edge and – and Cas’s head whips around the moment the bed creaks under him. His eyes narrow and he moves to the edge of the bed with purposeful steps, hand already raised. Dean freezes and squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for an impact that never comes.

Instead of another smack, Cas gently runs his palm over Dean’s ass. “Did you think your punishment was finished?” He squeezes softly and rubs his thumb over the bite he left. “No, Dean. Your punishment is that you don’t get to come. Is that understood?”

It’s understood, a little bit deserved, but definitely not welcome. Dean turns his face into the pillow to muffle a loud, disappointed groan. Cas lets him be a brat for a few moments before threading his fingers into his hair. He pulls his head up and out of the pillow until Dean can answer with his words, but all he can manage is a worthless little whine because even _that_ feels good.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Cas hums softly, one hand in Dean’s hair and the other dragging teasing fingertips through the mess of lube between his legs. “If you make my favourite dish for dinner tonight, then I’ll consider revisiting this before we go to bed. If you show me that you’re sorry for showing everyone what is _mine_ , then I’ll make you feel _amazing_.”

Dean moans as a finger catches on his hole but doesn’t actually slip in. “Yes!” He chokes and squirms. “Yes, _yes_. I’ll do it!”

Cas lets go again, letting him slump to the pillow. “Good. I’m going to untie you now.”

He’s gentle with undoing the knots, and he trails kisses along every inch of red skin left behind by the rope as it falls away. The heat coiling inside Dean burns all the brighter as Cas near worships him. His usual soft praise is absent and Dean misses it, but he knows that he has to earn it back. And he will. He’ll be on his best behavior tonight and Cas will take care of him later, just like he always does.

When his arms are free, Dean rolls over onto his back and stretches. This isn’t the first time that he’s been denied his orgasm – it’s one of Cas’s favourite games, after all – so it’s easier than it probably should be to ignore how hard he is right now. Cas steps back when he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, but he stays close, just in case Dean is too wobbly on his feet to stand on his own. It’s happened more than once before where his legs give out on him after a particularly good session.

Cas’s hand catches him under the arm at the first sign that he’s a little weak on his feet. He bundles Dean up in his arms and presses a kiss under his ear, then to the hinge of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the tip of his nose, and finally on the lips. Dean hums and leans into the kiss, his arms finding their way around his shoulders.

“I know you did that on purpose because you’re a greedy little masochist.” Cas murmurs against his mouth, his hands finding Dean’s hips and fingers fitting to the bruises he left there last night. “But I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” Dean grins into the kiss. “But you’ll forgive me because you love me?”

Cas sighs louder than he needs to, exaggerating it with an eye roll. “Of _course_ I love you. And yes, I’ll forgive you. Eventually.”

“Does that mean I can’t keep live modeling for that class?” He leans back and widens his eyes into something hopeful and pleading. “What if I promise to do it when I _don’t_ have any of your marks on me? Because the money was actually surprisingly good and it’s less frequent than if I actually did get a second job, y’know.” Which is something that Dean has been looking into to supplement their income so he doesn’t have to get a huge student loan to go back to school and finish his degree.

Cas kisses him once more, but the flicker of interest in his eyes already gave him away. Dean knows that his answer is going to be a _yes_ because he _likes_ being mad. It gives him an excuse to deal out punishments. As much as Dean likes being punished, Cas likes giving them. That’s why they were so compatible at first. Then they discovered how well they complimented each other in all aspects of their lives and – well, that’s why they got married.

“We’ll talk about it during dinner.”

**END**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  MATURE-ish, canon-AU, Human!Cas/fallen!Cas
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _anon: Cas has wings. Cas has SEXY wings. Wings have feathers. Dean wants those wings every which way, but bare skin can be ticklish and okay mmmaybe he laughed a bit, but it was just a LITTLE and DOES NOT require exploration and ESPECIALLY not a tickle fight, Cas, this is supposed to be SEXY oh my God stop!_  
> 

**PROMPT #7**

“ _What do you mean he **got hit by a witch**?_” Dean’s voice is hardly more than a hiss through the speaker on the phone, low and deadly, and still with a bit of the croak from his sore throat and the cold that had kept him home during this particular hunt.

Castiel pushes up on his hands just enough that he can meet Sam’s eyes in the rear-view mirror of the Lincoln. The blanket slips down his shoulders a bit and he reaches back to pull it up again. Sam rolls his lips between his teeth and glances at the phone currently sitting in a holder suctioned in a corner of the front window. He hadn’t meant to bring that up yet. They could easily explain what happened on this hunt, and Castiel had wanted to tell Dean the moment they killed the witch and the spell on him _hadn’t_ immediately dissipated. But it was Sam who had insisted that they wait until they were home for Dean to _see_ what had happened.

Sam swallows and shrugs. “It’s exactly what I said. One of the witches hit Cas with a spell.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence before Dean all but _growls_ into the phone. “ _Yeah, I got that the first time and that’s not what I’m asking. You know damn well what I want to know, so fucking **spill it**.”_

“I’m fine, Dean.” Castiel speaks up, and Sam glowers at him in the mirror. “We’re only a few hours from home and we’ll see you then.”

“ _But what happened_?” Despite sounding relieved, Dean still manages to maintain an air of annoyance. “ _It’s bad enough I couldn’t go on this hunt with you guys, and now you – Is it bad? I just need to know if it’s bad. And I’m talking **you might be dying** kind of bad_.”

At that, Sam breaks into a wide grin. “No, it’s not bad.”

“Speak for yourself.” With a sigh, Castiel slumps back down onto his stomach, his arms already trembling from the exertion of having to hold himself up. His weight on his back is more than he’s used to having to deal with and he’s not entirely happy about the situation.

“ _What’s **that** supposed to mean_?”

“Oh shit, we’re going through a tunnel!” Sam raises his voice over the panicked notes in Dean’s words. He starts making rough _kssssh_ sounds with his mouth as he reaches for the phone. “We might – Sorry – Losing you –” The phone beeps quietly as he ends the call.

Castiel folds his arms under his head and rests his chin on them. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“He’s definitely going to punch me the moment we get home.”

He rolls his eyes at the smile in Sam’s voice. “I don’t know why you didn’t just _tell_ him. At least then he would be able to prepare for the fact that I have _wings_ now.”

As if they know they’re being talked about, his wings shift under the blanket. Castiel has to focus on muscle groups he’s never had before to make them hold still. It wouldn’t be good for them to suddenly push up into view of the windows where one of the other cars on the road might see them. This also means that Castiel is essentially going to be grounded, ironically enough. He won’t be allowed to leave the bunker as long as he has these giant black monstrosities growing out of his back.

“It’s the shock value, Cas.” Sam glances over his shoulder to flash him a grin. “We’ve always wanted to see your wings, and now we can! Dean’s going to crap his pants and I want to be there to see it.”

Castiel’s nose wrinkles at the metaphor. Or, at least, he _hopes_ that’s a metaphor. As much as he loves Dean, he has no desire to see him lose control of his bowels. Mostly because Dean would probably never speak to either of them ever again. There was one accident once with his bladder when Dean had been zapped by some demigod’s powers, and he hadn’t talked to either Sam or Castiel for near a week out of sheer embarrassment.

“My wings  _never_ looked like this.” He mumbles into the crook of his arm. “My _real_ wings were a manifestation of my divine power. You only perceived them as shadowed bird wings because your human mind can’t actually comprehend what my true form is like.”

“Yeah, well, Dean is going to _lose it_ when he sees you with those puppies.” Sam still sounds too pleased with himself. Granted, he doesn’t often get the chance to surprise Dean with anything. “Helps things that you’re shirtless too.”

Ah yes, how could he forget _that_? The wings near _exploded_ from his back seconds after the spell took hold and Castiel’s shirt and jacket had been shredded in the process. It had also been incredibly painful and put him out of commission for the rest of the fight. His trench coat survived purely because he had left it in the car because Sam _insisted_ that he wouldn’t blend in with the rest of the crowd if he wore it. The trench coat is as well-known as the Impala amongst the supernatural community and they didn’t want to run the risk of either of them being recognized earlier than needed.

“Don’t worry, Cas. Dean is going to love this and then we’ll get started on researching how to cure you.”

Why does he have the feeling that’s easier said than done?

* * *

 

“You’re staring.” Castiel doesn’t even bother turning around. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him from across the library; a tangible sensation that makes his feathers fluff of their own accord.

The shuffle of books on a shelf nearly drowns out Dean’s muttered response. “No I wasn’t.”

He sounds petulant and, at any other point, Castiel would find it adorable. Right now he’s dealing with aches in new muscles, a chill across his chest, and an itch in his feathers that is starting to get _very_ annoying. It’s been a few days since the incident with the witches and Castiel hasn’t slept properly since then. Dean has also been strangely quiet; disappointing Sam with his subdued reaction to the revelation that their resident former angel actually has wings now.

Perhaps it’s the quiet that bothers Castiel the most. Dean is never this passive unless he’s deeply depressed, but he hasn’t done any of his usual indicators to that particular state of mind. There have been no long showers, or hours spent in his room listening to music, or long drives on his own. Instead, there’s been _lingering_ and _watching_ and that ever present silence.

They still share a bed at night, but aside from a few short kisses on the cheek, Dean hasn’t been near as clingy as he usually is. He likes to cuddle to sleep and, since he prefers being the little spoon, the wings wouldn’t even pose a problem. But Dean has avoided almost all contact with both Castiel _and_ his wings. It’s exceedingly frustrating and his patience is wearing thin.

Dean drops an armful of books at a spot on the opposite side of the table from where Castiel is sitting. That too is an indication that something is wrong. They _always_ sit side by side, even when doing research, because Dean is tactile by nature and likes to either lean against Castiel’s shoulder while he reads, or press their calves together.

One of his wings twitches in annoyance and Castiel’s head snaps up at the barely audible _gasp_ from across the table. Dean’s eyes are on his wings again, wide and round. His lips are parted and – Oh. Well, now. Isn’t _that_ interesting? There’s a _flush_ in Dean’s cheeks that wasn’t there when he sat down. Castiel raises an eyebrow at it and tilts his head to the side until he catches Dean’s eyes. They drag away from his wings slowly, only to snap back when Castiel consciously spreads out both his wings in a stretch.

He closes his book with a sharp thump and it makes Dean jump. Castiel laces his fingers together and rests them on the cover, pleased when Dean has the decency to look guilty. “You _like_ them.”

The flush deepens into a particularly attractive shade of crimson and Dean ducks his head. “Yeah.” He swallows thickly, fingers fidgeting with the pages of the book open in front of him. “They’re – Holy shit, Cas, they’re _super sexy_.”

That’s not exactly the answer he was expecting, but it has his feathers fluff – more in delight than in surprise. Dean tracks the movement with interest; even licking his lips. The only thing Castiel doesn’t understand is _why_ he’s been holding back. If he likes them so much, why hasn’t he been trying to touch them at every opportunity? Why has he been _holding back_ from being his usual affectionate self?

Of course Castiel has to voice those questions. It’s not fair that Dean has spent the last several months getting him accustomed to a certain level of daily physical contact. His libido doesn’t mind that they haven’t had sex since before he and Sam left on the hunt, but Castiel is still irked by it. More so that Dean has been withholding his kisses and cuddles; the warm hand in the small of his back to let him know that he’s there when they’re moving around each other in any space; or the tangled fingers when watching TV.

Dean answers with a shrug and a swipe of his palm across the back of his neck. “Well, you’re clearly not happy to have them.” He gestures with his other hand in Castiel’s direction. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad or some shit just because I’m a massive pervert and think they’re _hot as hell_.”

Castiel rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet. “Because nothing makes me like having wings more than my partner refusing to touch me since I got them.”

It takes a moment before Dean noticeably pales. “Oh _fuck_.” He’s on his feet in an instant and coming around the table before Castiel has even pushed his chair in. “Shit, Cas, I’m sorry.” Dean pulls him into a tight hug, his face pressed to the junction of neck and shoulder. “I never wanted you to feel like that.”

“Well, I did.” He huffs, but it’s hard to maintain his annoyance when Dean radiates warmth and affection. Without meaning to, Castiel finds himself near melting into him. It feels like forever since Dean held him last and his wings curve forward to add another layer to the hug.

The moment the feathers drag across his shoulders, Dean stiffens against him. He sucks in a shaky breath against Castiel’s skin before slowly leaning out of the hug. His eyes are wide again and his ears are tinted red. “Can – Can I _touch_ them?”

“Perhaps we should relocate to our bedroom?” Castiel quirks an eyebrow, and a smile. “Since you apparently find them _oh so sexy_.” He pitches his voice deeper with the full knowledge of how much Dean likes it when he does that.

As predicted, Dean shivers and his eyelids lower into a heated stare. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat before he licks his lips and nods. “Yeah. _Yeah_. We should – Definitely. Bedroom. Now.”

He grabs Castiel’s hand and starts towards their bedroom, leaving their books unattended. Sam will complain, as per the usual, but he’ll forgive them, as he always does. By sheer luck, they don’t run into him along the way. Their hurried step and direction would undoubtedly give away what they plan to do, and Sam has never been fond of knowing when they’re about to be intimate. If anything, he would prefer never knowing, and especially _hearing_ , what they get up to in their bedroom.

Dean drags him through the bedroom door, ensures that Castiel’s wings are well out of the way, and kicks it shut behind them. He leans back against it, meets his eyes, and very purposefully turns the lock. Short of using his words, there is no better confirmation of what Dean is planning to happen. Castiel is vaguely tempted to refuse him, given how annoyed he was just a few minutes ago, but his body is already reacting. Yet further proof of how Dean has essentially trained him since their relationship took a romantic turn.

That doesn’t mean that Castiel can’t _tease_ him. “You certainly seem sure of yourself.” He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head, fixing Dean with a squint.

“You wouldn’t’ve let me bring you in here if you didn’t want it too.” Dean shrugs out of his plaid shirt and tosses it in the vicinity of their shared hamper. The only time he tolerates clothes on the floor is when sex is a possibility. He stalks forward with a confident smirk. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and drops his arms, unable to keep up the pretense anymore. “Of _course_ you’re not wrong. I fully expect you to make up for the last few days.”

“Your wish is my command.” Dean grins, wide and salacious. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Castiel’s pants and pulls him in close enough for a lingering kiss. “Can you just do me _one_ favour while I make it up to you?”

A raised eyebrow is apparently all he needs before continuing, but not without the freckles on his skin standing out against another blush. Dean licks his lips and reaches up to skim his fingers over the soft alula feathers at the arch of Castiel’s wings. “Can you touch me with your wings? I mean, like, _all over_. I want to feel them on every inch of my body.”

With a sigh, more fond than exasperated, Castiel folds Dean in his wings again and overlaps them behind his back. “Do you mean like this? Or –” It takes some concentration, but he manages to move one of them so the long primaries drag against Dean’s leg over his jeans. “Like this?”

“ _Yes_.” He breathes and abandons Castiel’s pants to fit his palms to the curve of his jaw.

Dean brushes their lips together once – twice – three times before licking in and pressing forward. Castiel stumbles slightly as he’s backed towards the bed. His fingers tangle in the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and he uses that grip and the cage of his wings to turn them. He hasn’t been able to sleep on his back since he got the wings and he isn’t about to crush them against the mattress now because Dean can’t contain his enthusiasm.

They break apart to pull Dean’s shirt over his head and discard it to the floor. Castiel hasn’t had his fill of kissing and he finds his lips again, fingers deftly undoing his belt and the button of his jeans. Dean’s hands work just as quickly, divesting Castiel of both his belt and his pants in a matter of seconds. He’s practiced in the art of removing clothing at truly astonishing rates, and it’s a skill Castiel has come to appreciate over the last several months.

Once naked, Dean steps out of the pool of his jeans and drops backwards onto the bed. He tucks his hands behind his head and reclines against the pillow with a pleased smile. “Gonna join me, angel?”

“Are you going to insist on calling me that as long as I have these wings?” Castiel rolls his eyes and slides a knee onto the mattress. “It seems ironic considering that I was one regardless of –”

“Shush.” Dean holds a hand out, finger raised. “Let me have my fun.”

Castiel hums again and shakes his head. “No, I think I’m going to have _my_ fun first.” He climbs onto the bed and throws a leg over Dean’s thighs, straddling them smoothly. “I’m going to touch you now.”

“Still sounds like I’m the one having –” With a strangled, strangely high-pitched noise, Dean stops talking. He slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide above it.

Castiel pauses, brows raised. His wings shuffle against his back and Dean sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, legs shifting beneath him. What interesting reactions… But what could be the cause of them? Castiel twists to glance behind him and Dean’s legs tense again, his whole body trembling as the stiff primaries drag across the skin of his calves and feet. It takes Castiel a grand total of two seconds to realize what happened and he turns back around with a grin.

“Don’t you _dare_!” Dean hisses from behind his hand.

“Don’t I dare _what_?” Castiel hums to himself as he spreads his wings out and curves them forward. “I’m just doing _exactly_ what you asked me to do.” It takes more concentration than he would like to admit to angle the ends of his wings for the primaries to not drag on the bed and instead brush along Dean’s side.

Instead of a squeaking sound, this time Dean makes a hiccuping-snort of a noise. Castiel recognizes a laugh when he hears it and he subtly slides his hands along Dean’s skin. He moves them up over his stomach and across his ribs, trailing them gently up his arms. It seems to help him relax, lulling him into a false sense of security. Dean visibly relaxes into the touch – right up until Castiel grips his wrists and forcefully pins them to the pillows by his head.

“Cas!” Dean immediately begins to struggle, but he’s no match for Castiel’s strength in this particular position. “It was just a little laugh! There’s nothing special about it!”

“I thought you were calling me _angel_ right now?” He tilts his head to the side as he arches his wings closer again. “And I beg to differ, but there is something _very special_ about this and I’d like to explore it a little further.”

Castiel’s ability to control his wings is still in the practicing stages, but he feels he does a good job at brushing the primaries along Dean’s sides. He doesn’t have much access to the rest of him while he’s pinned like this, but that seems to be enough. Dean strains to break free beneath him, twisting and bucking and _giggling_. As much as he tries to keep quiet, it’s only a matter of seconds before his laughter is ringing in the room.

Somewhere in between the snorts and the squeaks and the squawks, Dean tries to form words. Castiel pieces them together eventually into a plea for mercy, but it goes largely ignored. He tickles every inch of skin that he can reach with his wings, just as it was requested of him. Mercy is granted only when tears streak Dean’s cheeks and Castiel becomes worried for his ability to breathe.

He sits back on his heels, waiting as Dean wheezes his way back into a place of calm. Slowly, Dean brings his hands down from the pillows and they end up resting on Castiel’s thighs. His fingers twitch every now and then, especially whenever Castiel’s wings move, but he seems to be settling well from the tickling onslaught.

“This –” Dean takes a shuddering breath that he blows out through his nose in a loud huff. “This was supposed to be _sexy_.”

“And it is.” Castiel leans forward again, though he’s careful to do it slowly so as not to spook Dean into thinking he’s about to be tickled again. He dips down to press a kiss to his cheek, tasting the salt on his skin. “I think you’re _very_ sexy when you laugh.”

Dean rolls his eyes and tilts his face away, trying to hide his smile. “I was _snorting_ , Cas. There’s nothing sexy about that.”

“Agree to disagree.” Castiel hums and follows the salt line to Dean’s ear. “Now, I believe you promised to make up for the last few days.” He flicks his tongue along the curve, knowing how it makes Dean’s toes curl. “I believe it’s time you keep your word.”

A low rumble of a groan resonates in Dean’s chest and his hands slide from Castiel’s thighs to his hips. “Oh, angel, you don’t have to ask me twice.”

**END**

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline (mention), Sam Winchester
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, Peeping
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _monarchmish: Peeping AU. Castiel moves in right next to Dean and Dean can’t help but notice how his new neighbour doesn’t realize that Dean can see directly into his window every day at all hours of the day. Dean tries not to look, but he can’t help that Cas is just THERE._

**PROMPT #8**

“Hey, Sammy, you’ll never guess what finally happened.” Dean traps the phone between his ear and his shoulder while loading up his arms with grocery bags.

“ _I’m not going to spend ten minutes playing your guessing game. I’m at **work** , Dean._”

He uses his elbow to close the trunk of the Impala, miraculously not trapping any of his bags in the process. “That’s your own fucking fault for working on a Saturday. Bitch, it’s the _weekend_. You’re supposed to be _enjoying it_.”

Dean is pretty sure that he can actually _hear_ Sam roll is eyes. “ _Could you stop being a jerk for all of five second and just tell me why you’re calling?_ ”

The reason for the phone call is staring at Dean from the lawn of the house next door. He pauses to regard the bold red _SOLD_ lettering now pasted over the _FOR SALE_ sign and he grins. “The house next door finally sold.”

“ _I didn’t even know it had an offer in on it._ ” Sam actually sounds annoyed by that. “ _I should pay more attention to what the real estate lawyers are doing._ ”

“That’s not your job. You’re in _criminal_ law.”

“ _I should at least know what’s happening at my own firm!_ ”

“It’s not your firm. You work _for_ them, Sammy.”

“ _Not mine **yet**._”

Dean snorts a laugh as he unlocks the front door and heads into his own house. “Yeah, yeah. One day.” He shakes his head and kicks the door shut behind him. “Any chance you want to sneak across the office and see if you can get me any information about who I’m going to be living next to?”

“ _Not a snowball’s chance in hell_.”

“Too bad.” With a mock sigh, he dumps his groceries on the kitchen counter. “Guess I’m going to have to let you get back to work then.”

They exchange a couple quick goodbyes and Dean gets back to the delightful task of putting away his groceries. He glances out the window above the sink a few times; squinting at the neighbour’s backyard. Maria and her twin sister Marcia took such good care of the gardens they have back there. The backyard is just about the only part of the property that those two old biddies didn’t have Dean take care of for them. Which is why he’s so surprised that the house took so long to sell.

It’s been on the market for nearly a year now, and that’s _really_ weird for such a nicely kept colonial on a corner lot. The neighbourhood is nice and quiet and who doesn’t want that? As far as Dean knows, the house itself is in pretty good condition too. It belonged to the twins for over fifty years and was still in near pristine condition. Aside from the usual problems that come with aging houses, there was nothing wrong with it.

Dean has lived here going on six years now, and he’s probably more familiar with the inner workings of the house next door than he is his own. Maria and Marcia were both of ancient before he was even born, and he was their on-call handyman right up until they moved to a nursing home last year. Marcia’s grandson has been in charge of selling the property for them, since none of the family apparently wanted to take it on.

Whatever the case may be, Dean seriously hopes that the new neighbour puts curtains to good use. The unfortunate mirrored layout of his house versus his neighbour’s means that one of his bedroom windows looks directly into one of _their_ bedroom windows. Maria was the one with the master bedroom and Dean caught one too many glimpses of saggy naked old lady body to last him a lifetime. It was like accidentally peeping on his _grandma_ and he started avoiding looking out that specific bedroom window within the first week of moving in.

* * *

 

The doorbell ding dongs through the house about two minutes after Dean gets out of the shower. His hair is still damp, but he wraps a towel over his boxers so he figures it’s safe to answer the door. It could only be a handful of people at this time of the morning. Either it’s his parents showing up for an impromptu breakfast, or it’s Sam looking to crash in his spare bedroom after pulling an all-nighter at the office. Or it’s someone he doesn’t want to talk to and being half naked will send them scurrying.

Dean regrets not taking the time to put a shirt on pretty much the moment he opens the door. The guy standing on his porch opens his mouth to say something, but just kinda _stares_. A blush rises in his cheeks and an answering one starts burning in Dean’s ears. This has got to be some kind of badly written fanfiction because no _way_ does he answer the door shirtless to a goddamn dreamboat on his front step.

“Uh – hi?” He clears his throat and raises a hand in a little wave. “Can I help you?”

Dreamboat blinks a few times and his attention snaps from Dean’s chest to his eyes, his blush darkening. “I’m sorry. I was just –” He stops short and his eyebrows come together in an adorable little frown. “Do you normally answer the door naked?”

“If it’s about the towel, I _swear_ I’m wearing something underneath it.” Dean ducks his head and pats the knot on his hip. “I just didn’t want to answer the door in my _underwear_.” And that’s just the weakest fucking argument ever.

Even Dreamboat looks doubtful as he cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Well –” He holds one hand out and Dean realizes that he’s got a white cake box in the other. “My name is Castiel Novak. I just moved in next door.”

“Oh, holy shit, hi!” Dean rubs his palm dry on the towel before shaking hands. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you!”

Cas smiles and it’s downright fucking _dazzling_. “The previous residents left a very thorough note explaining that you helped maintain their home and to come to you if I ever need assistance. I think I should be okay, but their note also said that I should ply you with baked goods to stay on your good side.” At that, he holds out the white box. “So I baked this for you as a peace offering in the hopes that our time as neighbours will be a good one.”

“Those crazy old bats.” Dean sighs and takes the still warm box. He should have expected they would do something like this. “I’m going to have to go visit them in the nursing home for this.” He acts put out, but he’s all smiles. Especially when he opens the box to find a fresh baked apple pie inside. “Holy shit, Cas, I think I’m going to have to marry you.”

The blush is back in full and Cas shifts on his feet. “If that’s your plan, then I feel I should point out that I come with a foster son.” He gestures shortly towards his house. “His name is Jack and he’s still sleeping right now, otherwise I would have had him come over and introduce himself too.”

“Well, why not let him keep sleeping?” Dean shrugs and steps out of the way. “If you don’t have anything else planned, you’re welcome to come join me for a slice of pie. I promise I’ll put actual clothes on before we eat.”

Abort! Abort! _Abort_!

This is a bad plan. Dean should not be inviting attractive neighbours into his house without first making sure that his kitchen is spotless (of course it is) and his guest bathroom is clean (obviously it is) and – and – and he’s only really freaking out because he answered the door half naked. Also holy shit what is it with those _blue eyes_ and _full pink lips_?

His new neighbour is a hot-hot- _hottie_ and Dean is a dead man.

* * *

 

Cas does yoga in his bedroom at six o’clock in the morning.

Dean found out by accident about a month after they shared breakfast pie. He’d gotten up early because he had too much to drink before bed and his bladder didn’t want to let him sleep in. The light in Cas’s bedroom window caught his eye and he’d glanced over out of half-asleep confusion – because who the fuck would willingly be awake at this time of the day – and promptly nearly had a heart attack.

Cas does yoga in his bedroom at six o’clock in the morning in obscenely tight yoga pants and _no shirt_.

Dean definitely doesn’t start his day way earlier than he used to more often now. He totally doesn’t glance out his window when he knows he shouldn’t, just to steal a quick glimpse of blue fabric stretched over a taut butt. A booty that looks way better in yoga pants than it does in the slacks that Cas wears when he goes to work, or the jeans he wears when he’s around the house. Dean only knows those particulars because they both leave for work at the same time and sometimes he helps Cas out in the garden because it’s seriously too much work to maintain for one man.

Cas does yoga in his bedroom at six o’clock in the morning in obscenely tight yoga pants and _no shirt_ , and he is _extremely_ flexible.

Dean legitimately tripped on his own two feet and fell flat on his face the first time he saw Cas with his chest on the floor and his ass in the air for _[the extended puppy pose](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e0/83/14/e08314659f316d569bf543b69fb1507d.jpg)_. He only knows the name of the pose because Sam and Jess do yoga and he explained the position until Jess replicated it and they realized what he was talking about. When questioned, Dean also lied through his teeth and said he saw it in a porno. It’s not far from the truth given how good Cas’s ass looked – right before he bent a leg over his back and touched his foot to his head.

Cas does yoga in his bedroom at six o’clock in the morning. Every. Single. Day.

* * *

 

On weekends, Dean has noted that Cas takes a nap after he and Jack have completed the house chores. Jack will head out to his part time job and Cas takes a nap in full view of the window for an hour and a half. The summer is too hot and the AC in that old house isn’t the best, so he usually strips down and naps in just his underwear. And Dean definitely doesn’t take a peek every now and then. Totally not. Because that’s _creepy_.

In fact, to avoid being a giant creep, Dean has taken to forcing himself to be _outside_ during Cas’s nap time. He reads in the hammock in his own backyard, or works on the Impala in the driveway. Basically he’ll do fucking anything to keep from feeling like he’s spying on Cas. It’s not something that he does _on purpose_. It’s just – Cas is _right there_. It’s like telling him not to notice the sky when he’s outside.

“Hello, Dean.”

Holy _shit_! He nearly clips his head on the underside of the hood as he stands up and whips around. Cas is standing at the edge of the driveway, his gardening belt hanging off his hips and sunhat shading his eyes. Dean resists the urge to check his watch, because he’s pretty sure that Cas should still be napping now instead of being here in his faded jeans and tight tank top and dirty gloves and _why is he here_!

Cas tilts his head when Dean gives him a little wave. “Uh – hey, Cas. Didn’t know you were home.” And even as he says it, he knows he’s going to be caught out in a lie because Cas’s car is literally right there in his own driveway.

Being the downright angel that he is, Cas doesn’t comment on it. He shrugs and gestures at the front of his house and the flower beds under the windows. “I just wanted to let you know that I have a pitcher of iced tea on the front steps if you’re thirsty. Feel free to help yourself.”

“Oh, cool, thanks.” He ducks his head with a smile and then straightens again. “My music isn’t going to bother you, is it?” There’s a Bluetooth speaker currently blaring _Back in Black_ from its place on Dean’s mobile tool bench that he drags out of the garage whenever he needs it.

“It’s okay. I like it.” Cas smiles and turns on his heel to start back towards his house. “In fact, you should turn it up.”

Dean _does not_ swoon. He doesn’t put a hand to his chest and sigh dreamily either. But his heart definitely skips a beat, and not just because Cas leans over to inspect his flowers and those jeans hug the curve of his ass _just right_. Jesus Christ.

He groans low in his throat and turns away. If Dean doesn’t face him, then he can’t stare and be entirely inappropriate. But this can’t keep going the way it has for the last few months. Either he needs to man up and ask Cas out, or he needs to _stop peeping_. It’s not cool and makes him feel creepy as hell every time he catches a glimpse of Cas in his bedroom that he’s not supposed to see.

Instead of focusing on Cas, Dean uses the music to clear his mind. He sings under his breath while topping up fluids, tightening and cleaning, and all the little tasks that come with the general maintenance that keeps his baby in tip-top shape. It’s like second nature to him and he could probably tune up the Impala blindfolded with both tied hands behind his back while fast asleep. He sinks into the steady rhythm and puts Cas out of his mind completely.

It works for a while and Dean almost forgets that he’s not alone. Granted, they’re not the only two people outside on this lovely day. The Hudson’s are sitting out on their porch swing, chatting quietly to themselves while watching the birds swarming the feeder they have hanging from the tree in their yard. And Dean can smell the barbeque the Mendoza’s are having in their backyard. It’s gotta be them because they have about a dozen cars sitting in their driveway and parked along the street.

Dean shuffles over to the tool bench to find a new wrench. He can see from the corner of his eye that Cas is weeding his garden, but he’s – Wait a fucking moment. Slowly, Dean stands up straight and fakes stretching his arms over his head. In the motion, he glances over just in time to catch Cas ducking his head to refocus on his garden. The motion is small, but the sunhat flops at the edges to highlight it.

Well, goddamn.

Suddenly he’s in the mood for a nice tall glass of iced tea. Grinning, Dean drops his wrench and wipes his hands clean on the towel hanging from the cart. He starts across the lawn with a bounce in his stride. Every step he takes is another shade of red darker on the back of Cas’s neck.

Seems like he isn’t the only one who can’t keep his eyes to himself.

**END**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Canon AU, Married!Destiel, Homophobia
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _grangerdanger-xo: Dean and Cas have been married for a few years before Mary is brought back from the dead. They decide not to tell her so as not to overwhelm her with all the news she has to catch up on. When she finds out (them telling her/her catching them kissing), she doesn’t take it as well as they had hoped she would. Cue friends and family coming together to teach Mary about the queer community and help her to accept LGBTQIA stuff._

**PROMPT #9**

Castiel purposefully bumps his shoulder into Dean’s as he steps up next to him at the sink. “Thank you for dinner tonight. It was delicious.”

Without so much as a pause in scrubbing the pans from their meal, Dean bumps him right back and flashes him a smile. “If I ever serve up something that _isn’t_ delicious, put me in my grave because that’s obviously a shapeshifter.”

“Duly noted.” He picks up a spare dish towel and starts drying what is already laid out to drip dry on another towel on the counter. “I noticed that you’ve been doing more all American classics lately. Any particular reason why?”

Dean rolls his eyes and flicks water at him. “How do _you_ know what’s considered an ‘ _all American classic_ ’ dinner, huh? Did they serve up pot roast in Heaven?”

Instead of answering, Castiel continues with the point he was trying to make. “It’s because of Mary, isn’t it?” He doesn’t miss how Dean’s shoulders go stiff. “You’re making meals that were more commonly made fifty years ago as opposed to the more ethnic variety available now.” Not that Dean had a penchant for cooking food from other cultures even before Mary was resurrected, but he did experiment with meals more often before and he hasn’t done that once since her return.

“Is there ever gonna be a day where you _don’t_ see right through me?” The smile Dean turns on him is so warm and fond. He leans a little more heavily into Castiel’s shoulder and he bears the weight of him easily. “I thought familiar meals her mom used to make might help her adjust a little better, y’know?”

“That’s very considerate of you.” It’s just one of the many things about Dean that made Castiel fall in love with him, and why he married him. “She’s lucky to have sons like you and Sam.”

He resists the urge to lean over and kiss that smile. Dean seems to be thinking along the same line, as his gaze drops to focus on his mouth. There’s a moment where Dean sways closer and Castiel does nothing to dissuade him. It’s been too long since they’ve shared a kiss and even longer still since they were last intimate. Not for a lack of wanting, though.

Mary’s return has thrown the Winchester household (bunker) into chaos. There’s a couple decades worth of information and technology that she needs to catch up on and everyone has been trying not to smother her with all the differences in the world that have occurred between now and when she died. It’s easy to overwhelm her with things and everyone has been taking it slow with helping her adjust.

Thus far it seems to be going well, but Castiel wishes they didn’t have to _hide_ certain things from her. In an effort to ease her into the current century, it had been ultimately decided upon that he and Dean would _not_ mention their relationship to her. This includes, much to his chagrin, no longer holding hands as they feel like it, or cuddling when watching TV. They’re also sleeping in separate bedrooms and not wearing their wedding rings. Castiel has his ring on a chain underneath his shirt, and Dean switched fingers and is wearing it on his right hand.

To be fair, Dean wasn’t exactly prepared for a scenario where he would have to ’ _come out_ ’ to his parents. That’s a given considering how all those he considered as parental figures were well and truly dead by the time they started dating, let alone when they got married. Sam was happy for them, but Mary might not be as open minded as he was. She was raised in a different time, after all.

As such, it’s been a bit of an awkward time for all the Winchesters as they learn how to act around each other. Dean has vague memories that he’s been clinging to all these years, but Sam knew nothing of what it was like to have a mother. And the last time Mary saw her sons, Dean was four years old and Sam was still an infant. It hasn’t been easy for her to reconcile the idea of her small children being these two men in their mid-to-late thirties.

Needless to say, Mary isn’t the only one that has been in need of this adjustment period.

Dean leans in and Castiel mirrors him until their noses touch. He can practically _taste_ him from here, his breath warm on his lips. They’re so close and it would take nothing to close the space between them. Castiel wouldn’t even mind if Dean’s hands were still wet when he finally touches him. He could back him up against the counter, fit his thigh between Dean’s legs, and work him up until he’s falling apart against him just like he used to do when Sam wasn’t home.

“Where –” Dean’s voice is rough and he clears his throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Uh – where’s mom?”

“I believe she retired to the library after dinner.” Castiel tilts his head and rubs his nose lightly against Dean’s. “She’s been using the laptop to read newspaper archives.”

With a satisfied hum, Dean shifts away from the sink to turn more into him. “Then I guess we’ve got a minute, huh?”

Rather than answer with words, Castiel drops the dish towel so he can fit his hand to the curve of Dean’s hip and draw him in. He tilts his chin up and smiles at the soft sigh that puffs against his lips before they close the distance and _finally_. A wet hand curls into the front of his shirt and a tongue swipes across his bottom lip. It’s been so long that it feels like the first time all over again and it’s taking everything Castiel has not to abandon the clean up to drag Dean back to their bedroom.

Dean makes a soft sound. “Oh _fuck_.” His other hand, also wet, comes up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “God, I _missed_ this.”

Castiel’s hum of agreement is lost to a gasp of surprise from behind them. They pull apart sharply and turn in unison to find Mary standing in the doorway to the kitchen, an empty wine glass in hand. Dean looks equal parts horrified and guilty, which irks Castiel to no end. All they did was _kiss_. It’s not like she walked in on them with their hands down their pants or anything that would require that Mary look as shocked as she does.

The moment Dean’s expression cools into something stony and unfeeling, Castiel knows that he needs to do something to fix this moment. “Do you need a refill?” He clears his throat and gestures at Mary’s wine glass. “I believe the bottle is still in the fridge.”

When she makes no effort to move and Dean is quite obviously frozen to the spot, Castiel takes it upon himself to do it. He fetches the bottle of red wine and fills Mary’s glass for her. She brings it to her lips and downs it entirely in several long gulps. Mary holds the glass out again and he hesitates before filling it again.

“So, what was that?” After finishing the second glass as well, she puts it down on the nearest flat surface. Her eyes are still fixed on Dean and he hasn’t moved an inch. “Are you two _gay_?”

Dean twitches at the flinty tone, but he doesn’t answer. Castiel has to consciously keep his grip on the wine bottle loose, for fear of shattering it. “Actually, Dean is bisexual.” His voice doesn’t waver, but there is a steely edge to it. This ‘ _coming out_ ’ doesn’t seem to be going very well. “And despite my vessel and my representing myself as I appear, I’m technically gender-less and have no specific preferences. It was Dean’s soul that drew me to him rather than his body.”

Mary’s shoulders are too stiff and her spine too straight. She looks back and forth between the two of them. “You two are a – a _thing_?”

“Yes, we are.” Castiel pulls his ring out from under his collar, removes it from the chain, and very purposefully puts it on his left ring finger. “And we’ve been married going on a few years now.”

He’s aware of the unhappy glare being directed his way and he turns to meet Dean’s eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m tired of hiding our relationship because you weren’t ready to tell her. She caught us and now she knows, so what’s the point of continuing with the secrecy?”

“Is it true?” Mary’s eyes linger on Castiel’s ring before she looks to Dean. “You’re married to a _man_?”

Dean’s lips press into a thin line and he averts his eyes to stare at the ground. It takes a few tense moments of silence before he takes a deep breath. Slowly, he moves the ring from his right hand to its proper place on his left.

Mary doesn’t say another word. She turns on her heel and leaves the room as suddenly as she had arrived. Dean’s next breath shudders in his chest and he turns back to the dishes, though he doesn’t pick up the abandoned cloth. Castiel gets the distinct impression that things are _Not Good_ and he briefly worries that it might be his fault.

He abandons the wine next to Mary’s empty glass and returns to Dean’s side. His fingers just barely brush his elbow before Dean jerks away from him. There’s a cold fury in his eyes when he looks up again. “I didn’t want to tell her for _this exact reason_ , Cas!”

“You’re mad at me.” Castiel tilts his head to the side with a frown, trying to understand the exact reason why. “What excuse would you have used to explain why we were _kissing_?”

“You shouldn’t have even kissed me in the _first place_.” Dean throws his hands in the air and turns to start a quick back and forth pace of the kitchen. “If you’d just kept your stupid face to yourself, we wouldn’t even _be_ in this situation now.”

His words are like a physical blow; like a blade of ice slipping between Castiel’s ribs. Ignoring the fact that Dean essentially instigated the kiss, he was also an enthusiastic participant in it. He’s angry, yes, but that’s no reason to lash out. It’s one of the ways Dean deals with anger and disappointment, but Castiel doesn’t feel that he deserves it. Not now and not for _this_ reason.

“Are you ashamed of me?” The question almost gets stuck in his throat and Castiel swallows around the lump that forms there. “Do you regret marrying me? Is that why you –”

No, he can’t bring himself to finish that particular question. Castiel knows the answer already. He knows that it’s because Dean was trying to spare his mother too much at once. But the fear is still there. That quiet _what if_ that haunts him whenever Dean is less than forward to anyone about their relationship.

Dean’s pacing comes to a sudden stop and he whips around to look at him. For a moment his frame still trembles with the energy of his outburst, and then it all crumbles away. His shoulders sag in defeat and he runs a hand over his face. “No, Cas, _no_. I don’t regret a damn thing about you and me.”

“Then why –?”

“It’s _her_ , Cas.” He swings his arm out wide to gesture to where Mary left. “She’s my mom, but she’s still a fucking _stranger_ to me. I don’t – I _didn’t_ have any idea how she would feel about queers and gay marriage and all this stuff.” His shoulders hunch forward as he hugs himself. “Guess I know _now_.”

Castiel moves to him and draws Dean into a tight hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dean sighs and all but melts into the hug. “This – _us_ – isn’t something you ever need to apologize for, okay?” He presses his face into Castiel’s shoulder to muffle his next words. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Castiel slides his hand along Dean’s spine, knowing that he enjoys it. “We can try talking to her again later. Let her get used to the idea first.”

He huffs and turns his head to rest his cheek on his shoulder instead. “Or we could, y’know, _not_? Just ignore it until it goes away.”

“How about we start with finishing the dishes?”

Dean groans and covers Castiel’s face with one of his hands before shoving him away. “Let’s _not_ be responsible for, like, _one night_.”

“That path leads to madness.” Castiel takes him by the shoulders and guides him back towards the sink. “Come. We were almost done.”

There’s much less (zero) kissing done while they finish washing and drying what’s left in the sink. As Dean wipes down the stove and various surfaces, Castiel puts away everything else. He waits until they’re leaving the kitchen together before asking the one question that’s been on the tip of his tongue since Mary left them.

“Does this mean I can start sleeping with you again?”

* * *

Mary doesn’t speak to either of them for nearly three weeks. She’s not outwardly hostile to them, but it hasn’t been easy.

If one or both of them enters the same room as her, she finds an excuse to leave within a few minutes. It’s clear that she’s uncomfortable with them, and it obviously bothers Dean. He’s become more withdrawn over these past few weeks. Either he’s throwing himself into finding hunts that get him out of the bunker, or he’s holing himself up in their bedroom with his headphones and endlessly listening to music alone.

Castiel hates it.

He _hates_ that anyone – and especially Dean’s _mother_ – is uncomfortable because of their _love_. He hates that Dean lies when he says that he’s not upset. And he hates all the more that Mary isn’t an inherently bad person, or that he understands _why_ she’s acting like this.

She was born in an era when homosexuality was frowned upon and she’s been dead since 1983. Mary hasn’t been around to see all the progress that has been made in accepting them. If she had been, Castiel is certain she would have been _happy_ for Dean – for them. Because love is something beautiful. It’s meant to be celebrated, not frowned upon. That was never his Father’s intention when He created this world and humanity.

“Hey, Cas.”

A hand drops on his shoulder, pulling Castiel from his thoughts. He’s been so consumed with this _Mary_ situation that he’s been neglecting the ongoing project of creating a digital catalog of the library. It’s something that he and Sam started a few months ago as something to keep them occupied during downtime at the bunker. Castiel has found it to be a nice bonding time for them. Especially when Dean is busy with his hobbies in the garage or when he’s binging mindless television for hours.

Sam smiles down at him as he drops a handful of pamphlets on the table. He takes his coat off and drapes it over the back of the chair next to him before sitting down. “How’s it going?”

“It _isn’t_ going anywhere.” Castiel looks miserably at the scanner next to him and the stack of books he had been ignoring. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to finish these volumes today, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam props his cheek on his fist and reaches over to close the laptop. “I know you’ve been distracted lately. Dean too.”

That’s an understatement if ever he’s heard one. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “It’s been difficult. I don’t like seeing Dean this upset, but I don’t know what to do and Mary hasn’t exactly wanted to talk to either of us.”

Sam’s smile actually grows and he slides his stack of pamphlets over to him. “That’s why I went and got these. There are still a lot of people who aren’t as open minded as we’d like them to be that have problems with their kids being gay.”

Castiel picks up one of the pamphlets and raises an eyebrow at the title in bold across the top of it. **_So, your kid is gay?_** He picks up another. **_How to accept your gay child._** And then another. **_Supporting your gay child._** The rest are just general informational documents regarding the false stereotypes and discrimination that the queer community receives and how it can be harming to a person.

“Do you think this will help?” He glances at Sam, hope in his voice.

“Maybe?” Sam shrugs and gathers them all up again. “It’s a start, at least. There are support groups for people her age that are struggling with accepting things they were raised to disapprove, y’know? I’m going to try and talk her into going to one of them.”

Without warning, Castiel leans over to wrap him in a hug. “ _Thank you_.”

It means the world to him, and to Dean when he tells him, that Sam is on their side. He had been their biggest supporter when they started dating, and even more so when they got engaged. Sam was the Best Man at their wedding while Charlie played Maid of Honour; the only two attendees at the small ceremony they held in a town hall in Iowa (the closest state that had legalized gay marriage at the time).

“Don’t mention it.” Sam laughs and pats him on the back. “I’m going to go find mom and give these to her. I think it’s time for the two of us to have a good _talk_.” They pull apart and he stands again, pamphlets in hand.

“Thank you, Sam. We really appreciate it.” Castiel stands too, readily abandoning the cataloging project for the rest of the day. “I’m going to find Dean and tell him about this. He needs a little hope right now.”

* * *

Charlie arrives within the week, her heavy duffle bag an indication that she plans to stay a while. Castiel assumes it’s just for one of her normal visits, as she has the tendency to just show up without warning whenever she feels like it.

Right from the moment she arrives, Charlie is her usual charming self and wins Mary over almost immediately. Castiel suspects that she must have some sort of pheromone or something similar that works on Winchesters in particular, since she seems to have a penchant for worming her way into their hearts rather quickly. He’s almost certain that Mary adores her before the day is out.

That said, he’s a little worried for when Charlie’s sexual orientation will be revealed. She’s been out and proud for far longer than Dean has been, so she might be able to handle Mary’s attitude a little better. Granted, the situation for her is also entirely different. Mary isn’t her dead mother brought to life again, which adds a certain tension for Dean and his need to reconnect with her.

Maybe it’s because they have a guest and Dean goes out of his way to make a big dinner to welcome Charlie home, but they actually all sit to eat together. It’s been a while since Mary joined them and didn’t make excuses to eat separately.

“So, what’s new?” Charlie looks around the table and gestures with her fork, spaghetti swinging dangerously from it. “I mean, aside from your Mom being alive and all that. Which is totally _awesome_ by the way!” There’s a hint of envy in her words.

The silence that meets her question is telling. Mary takes a sip of her wine and resolutely doesn’t look at anyone, while Dean stares down at his spaghetti carbonara and picks at it. Sam and Castiel share a look, unsure if it would be appropriate to draw attention to the tension they’ve been dealing with.

But Charlie is perceptive and she leans forward sharply. “What is it? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Dean stabs at a particularly large piece of bacon on his plate. “It’s _fine_.”

His bitter tone contradicts his words and Charlie narrows her eyes at him. Mary’s mouth draws into a thin line and she looks away quickly when Castiel reaches out to put a hand on Dean’s arm. Charlie looks between each of them in turn before ending on Sam, as if he’s the weak link that will answer her. In a sense, he kind of is. But it’s not a weakness. It’s _strength_ to address the problem at hand.

“Actually, it’s really not fine.” Sam straightens up and lifts his head a little higher when he receives two disapproving glares. “Don’t look at me like that. Society choosing to not talk about it is part of what caused this problem in the first place.”

“What?” Charlie tilts her head, brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

To his credit, Sam at least does give Mary an apologetic look. “I swear I’m not trying to throw you under the bus here, but Dean’s your _son_ and you’ve been really shitty about this whole thing. Have you even looked into attending those groups I mentioned?”

Mary at least has the courtesy to look guilty. She looks away without answering and nurses her wine. On the bright side, she’s silent with her anger. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help the situation. Dean’s shoulders curve inwards and Castiel can’t resist putting his arm around them. He’s never really been good at using his words to bring comfort, but he can give his husband all the physical grounding that he needs.

“Oh.” Charlie looks at Dean and Castiel before turning to Mary. Her expression closes off quickly, cooling considerably. “I see.”

Silence settles heavily for several long minutes before she breaks the tension with a clap of her hands. “Alright, boys! I think Momma Winchester and me need some good ol’ fashioned lady time.” Charlie stands up with her plate in one hand and her drink in the other. “Let’s go have a lil chat, why don’t we? The boys can finish eating on their own.”

Mary frowns, but nods. She excuses herself quietly as she picks up her plate and follows after Charlie. Castiel has no idea where they’re going, but there’s no shortage of tables in the bunker for them to find for themselves. As soon as they’ve left the room, Dean starts to relax. He exhales quietly and Castiel runs a hand over his back a few times.

“She’ll come around.” Sam assures him and reaches across the table to pat Dean on the hand. “She took all those pamphlets I gave her and I’ve seen her reading them.”

“Still won’t talk to me, though.” Dean pushes his pasta around his plate with his fork, clearly miserable and it breaks Castiel’s heart. “When we went to the past, she told us she never wanted us to be hunters like her. Would’ve been nice if she warned us about not wanting us to be gay either.”

Castiel doesn’t hesitate to poke him hard in the side. “And what would that have achieved? Would you not have married me?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what it _sounded_ like.”

Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Cas, please don’t start with me on this.” He pushes away from the table, apparently abandoning his meal.

Castiel puts a hand on the back of Dean’s chair and uses a little of his angel strength to push it right back into place. “You are _not_ skipping another meal. Let Charlie talk with your mother. Stay here and finish eating with us.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

They stare each other down for a few moments before Dean submits with another loud sigh. Sam waits until he’s had two bites of pasta before clearing his throat and striking up a conversation about a hunt he thinks he might have found in the newspaper. It does a good job of distracting all three of them from what Mary and Charlie might be talking about, and Castiel is grateful for it.

This thing with Mary has been hanging over their heads for too long and he hopes that _some_ resolution might be made shortly.

* * *

“You know I wouldn’t change a thing between us, right?” Dean rolls over and nudges at Castiel’s thigh with his knee. “I love you and I love being married to you.”

Castiel briefly considers pretending to be asleep, but they only turned the light off a few minutes ago and he doesn’t fall asleep that quickly. Instead, he seeks out Dean’s hand under the blankets and squeezes it. “I know.”

“Maybe if I knew how mom felt when I met her in the past, then I could’ve at least been prepared for this bullshit or done something else or –” Dean sighs and shuffles closer until he can sling an arm around Castiel’s waist. “I don’t know. This is all fucked up.”

He hums in agreement and turns over so Dean can fit himself up against his back. Usually Dean prefers being the little spoon, except for when they’re having an emotional talk. It’s apparently easier to talk in the dark with Castiel facing away from him. If that’s what it takes when they need to have a difficult talk, then so be it.

“I don’t think she outright hates us for being married, but I hate feeling like I _disappointed_ her with this.” Hot air puffs against the back of his neck as Dean continues. “You make me _so fucking happy_ and it’s so fucking dumb that it’s making her uncomfortable. Why can’t she be happy for me? We’re supposed to be getting to know each other right now and I just –” He cuts off with a soft swear, apparently unable to put his thoughts into word.

Castiel rubs his thumb over the knuckles of the fist curled over his stomach. “You’ve wanted your mother back for your whole life and it’s upsetting that she’s shunning you for something as beautiful as being in love.”

“ _Exactly_.” Dean squeezes him tightly in a one armed hug. “See? You get it!”

“I also met your grandfather. He wasn’t the most accepting of people.” Castiel rolls his eyes at the memories of what few times he had met Samuel Campbell. “If he had any hand in her raising, then I’m not all that surprised with her reaction.”

The next huff against the back of his neck is a laugh and Dean presses his forehead against it. “C’mon, Cas. Don’t think about that asshole while we’re in bed.”

“I would make a crude comment about _your_ ass being the only ass I think about in our bed, but I don’t want to lower myself to using toilet humour.” He’s well aware that he essentially said it in the end, but he also knows exactly how much Dean enjoys silly jokes like this.

This time the laugh that rumbles against his back is a loud one. It echoes in their bedroom and it’s beautiful. Castiel can’t remember the last time he heard Dean laugh like this and that’s a true tragedy. He grins in the dark, pleased with himself.

A knock at the door interrupts them and they both lift their heads in unison to look at it. Dean curses under his breath. “Was I too loud? You think I woke someone up?”

“Couldn’t be.” Castiel shakes his head and sits up properly. “You weren’t laughing for that long.” He leans over to turn on the bedside light and raises his voice; “Who is it?”

There’s silence for a moment before a quiet voice answers them; “It’s Mary.”

Dean sits up sharply too, eyes wide in a brief panic. Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him from springing out of bed. It’s not like they’ve been caught out in an uncomfortable state. They’re not naked, they weren’t having sex, and this would be no different than walking in on Sam alone in his bed.

As such, Castiel has no problem with calling out again; “Come in.”

He relaxes back against the headboard as Mary opens the door. She steps into the room and, to both their surprises, shuts the door behind her. The t-shirt she’s wearing is one of Dean’s old ones and it hangs halfway down her thighs, covering her sweatpants. She’s dressed comfortably, but shuffles unsteadily on her feet.

“Um – what’s up?” Dean shifts and fidgets with the blanket, as if he’s torn to draw it up to his chest and cover his own t-shirt.

Mary shrugs and smooths her hand over a few wrinkles in the shirt. “That Charlie is a – uh – remarkable young woman.”

“Yes, she is.” Castiel nods in agreement. “She has a way of slipping right into your heart whether you wanted her there or not. She called me _short_ when I first met her and yet I would still do almost anything for her.”

“But you _are_ short.” Dean mumbles, though still loud enough for Mary to hear.

Castiel jabs him in the thigh for that remark. “Need I remind you that my true form is the size of the Chrysler building? You’re an _ant_ compared to me.”

Any comeback Dean might have had dies on his tongue when Mary clears her throat. They both flinch in surprise and look back at her. The slight difference in their height is a teasing argument they’ve had a number of times and they had fell into the trap it usually is for them – primarily because Dean refuses to let Castiel forget that he’s only a _little bit_ taller than him.

To their surprise, Mary is actually smiling softly at them. “She was right, you know. You two _do_ fight like an old married couple.”

“Half the reason we got married was so I could tell people that we _were_ an old married couple.” Dean snorts a laugh and gestures at Castiel. “And he’s technically robbing the cradle over here, what with him being _several millennia_ old.”

“Keep it up, Dean.” Castiel crosses his arms and turns to fix him with a narrow look. “It’s almost like you _want_ to sleep on the couch tonight.”

Mary actually _laughs_ , though it’s barely more than a soft huff of air. It’s enough to make them both stop again. When she realizes she’s being watched, Mary’s smile falls slightly and she starts to shuffle her feet uncomfortably again.

She chews her bottom lip momentarily before sighing. “Charlie and I spoke for a long time about all of this.” Mary gestures between the three of them. “And she told me all about what it was like for her when she came out to her parents. It was –” She pauses. “It was enlightening.”

Castiel immediately puts a comforting hand on Dean’s arm, just to steady him in case he needs it. “And what significance does that have with us?”

“I haven’t been fair to either of you.” Mary’s gaze drops to the floor and she has the courtesy to look guilty. “And I’m sorry. But I – I’m not comfortable with this.”

Dean wilts next to him, fists curling in the blanket. “Oh.”

She looks up sharply again and waves a hand nervously in the air. “No, _no_. I mean – I _want_ to be comfortable with it. You’re my son and I don’t want this to stop me from getting to know you – _both_ of you. I’m –” She takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “I’m going to go to those meetings Sam found for me. And Charlie still has the websites she gave to her parents to help them accept her so I’m going to read those.”

“Thank you.” Castiel squeezes Dean’s arm and shares a smile with him. “The effort is appreciated. Isn’t it, Dean?”

In answer, Dean gets out of bed and shuffles across the room. He pulls Mary into a tight hug, and Castiel can’t help his own bright smile when she returns the hug in kind. Things aren’t perfect, not yet, but it’s still a step in the right direction. It’s _hope_ , and that’s something he’s come to learn is what really embodies being a Winchester. And Castiel loves being one.

**END**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - Gods/Spirits, era unspecified, jen plays fast and loose with myths and legends
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _cannedface: Dean is a man on the run who blearily stumbles into a small abandoned temple to find shelter. The god who dwells there is curious and strange, but tries all sorts of odd things to give comfort. He hasn’t seen a Human soul so lovely in a very long time. Dean just hopes Castiel is the type of god who’ll be flattered/amused by a lonely Human’s lack of worshipful decorum… and totally inappropriate attraction._

**PROMPT #10**

The winter wind whips Dean’s cloak around his legs, doing fuck all at keeping the chill out. He’s shivering violently and his fingers are numb in his thick woolen gloves, even where they’re tucked in the pits of his arms. He sloshes through the knee high snow, wishing desperately for a hot fire and a warm meal. It’s almost too easy to picture the hearth in Sam’s cabin; flames crackling in the grate and the savoury pot of stew bubbling above it. God, he can practically _taste it_.

Of course it’s just his luck that a storm hit in the middle of his trek. He’s a traveler by nature and can’t stand staying in one place like Sam does all year round. It does him good to hide away for the winter with Sam. That way, Sammy isn’t alone up in the mountains for months on end and Dean gets the heat off his back for a while. He’s not exactly a wanted man, but there are number of lawmen who would _love_ to ask him a couple questions that he’s not too keen on answering. Plus, he likes helping Sam trap and build up the store of furs that he trades for come spring.

But Dean was running late this season. It was a warm fall and winter was late. He’s woefully unprepared for this storm and he very well might freeze to death before he finds somewhere to wait out the storm. Dean is normally better at reading the weather than this, but it snuck up on him. First there was a little snow when he set out from his camp this morning. By mid-day the wind had picked up and Dean could hardly see more than a few yards ahead of himself.

The path through the mountain is usually pretty clear, but he can hardly even see it right now. The forest looms to his left and the sharp wall of a cliff on his right. In weather like this, the path can be dangerous if strong winds loosen any of the rocks in the wall. Or an avalanche could come crashing down and swallow him whole too. It’s just all too dangerous and he should have been paying attention to the weather more. He should have just stayed in his damn camp.

His ears tingle with the burn of cold under his hood and he pulls his scarf tighter where it’s wrapped around his head to pin the hood to his head. This is the _worst_. Isn’t there anywhere he could go to be safe from the storm? Dean has been walking closer to the edge of the trees to try and use their branches to protect him from the worst of the driving snow, but the wind is howling along the edge of the cliff like the space between the trees and stone is creating a tunnel for it to whip through.

Somewhere in the depths of his memory, he vaguely recalls there being some kind of cave that breaks up the monotonous gray stone of the cliff wall. The problem is that Dean can’t remember if he’s passed it or not. He’s walked this path at the start and end of every winter and yet _somehow_ he doesn’t have it memorized like the back of his hand. Granted, new scars and freckles surprise him on his skin every so often, so that’s a bit of a pointless idiom for him.

Sam will literally hunt him down, raise him from the dead, and kill him again if he dies here. He has to keep going until he either reaches a safe place to camp, or makes it all the way to Sam’s cabin. If the storm hadn’t hit, he would have reached the cabin by nightfall. Now he’s not so sure. Dean is just _so cold_ and he’s tired. The back on his back holds only the bare essentials he needs to set up camp and dried meats and bread for his meals, but it weighs heavier on him than it did when he set out this morning.

Is it getting darker out, or is it just him? Dean blinks away the ice forming on his eyes lashes and squints through the darkening edges of his vision. He’s so goddamn _tired_ and – what’s that? There’s a smudge against the cliff that stands out even in the blinding white haze of snow in the air. Something deep in Dean’s chest lurches sharply and his feet, unbidden, turn from the path to head straight for it. Before he can even see it properly, he knows exactly what it is; the crack in the cliff wall.

There’s a cave system that lies beyond the crack, an opening in the face of the cliff just big enough for a man to fit through. Once upon a time, when Dean and Sam were still young and foolish, and the cabin belonged to their hunter of a father instead, they had explored the cave a bit. It twists and turns deep into the side of the cliff with little caverns and more tunnels twisting off of it on both sides. The original crack might have been forged by the Earth, but it looked like the insides had been carved out by the hand of some man or creature.

Dean didn’t even really remember any of that until now, as he kicks his way through the snow built up around the mouth of the cave. They wanted to explore the cave in depth when they were kids, but Dad was _furious_ when he found out that they had gone into it. His ass still stings with the burning whip of the switch he’d used in an effort to teach them to _never_ go into the cave systems again. Dad never explained why, but the threat of the switch was incentive enough to put it out of their minds – until now.

The moment he stumbles through into the cave proper, the wind becomes nothing but a distant howl. Without it’s icy fingers tugging at his clothes, Dean feels unbalanced and he slumps against the smooth wall of the cave to catch his breath. Frost has built up along his scarf and the edges of his hood, and his cloak feels stiff where the driving snow has melted and re-froze against it.

A fire, Dean needs a _fire_. Does he have enough dry kindling in his pack to get one started? And what is he going to burn? It’s not like there’s going to be an abundance of twigs in the cave. Though, to be fair, he can hardly see a thing so he can’t really confirm that. Hopefully no creature has decided to make this place its home.

With some effort, he manages to get his pack off his back. His fingers are stiff inside his mitts, but he doesn’t dare take them off yet. The cave might be protected from the harsh wind, but it’s still deathly cold in here. If he can at least light one of the torches he keeps stashed in the roll of his bedding, he could use that to guide his way deeper into the cave where the chill bite of winter might not have been able to reach.

It takes a few tries, but Dean finally manages to dig out a torch and a flint and steel. The mittens have to come off then, if only so he doesn’t risk them catching the spark instead. With practiced ease, though a bit stiff from the cold, Dean gets the torch lit. The heat from it is minimal, but better than nothing and he breathes a sigh of relief as he warms his hands over it.

Now he has some light to see by and he lifts his head to glance around. His heart near jack rabbits out of his chest when he chances upon two eyes of a startling blue that flash in the light of the fire, their owner just outside the halo of light created by the torch. He blinks and they’re gone. Dean snatches up the torch and holds it in front of them, towards where he’d seen the eyes. Nothing’s there but the shadows of a tunnel that leads further into the mountains.

Did he imagine it? His vision is clearing up the longer that he stays out of the blizzard outside. It could have been a trick of the li – no! There they are again, further down the tunnel. They glow almost as if they have a light of their own behind them. What chills Dean’s bones the most is how very _inhuman_ they are. Those eyes must belong to some kind of spirit, because he knows almost every animal there is in this area and not a single one of them has eyes like that.

Every fiber of Dean’s being screams at him to grab his torch and head back out into the storm. Instead of listening, he shoulders his pack again, pulls his mittens on, and follows them. The eyes disappear if the fire gets too close, but then they reappear in the dark further down the tunnel. They lead him through twists and turns, turning off the main tunnel or down one side of a fork.

He doesn’t once consider paying attention to the path he takes. Dean is well and truly bewitched by those eyes and he follows them until the tunnel opens into a wide cavern. If he hadn’t been so distracted by the eyes, he might have noticed that the tunnels were all too smooth and circular, clearly carved out of the mountain by Human hands. If he had noticed that, then maybe he wouldn’t have gasped and dropped his torch in surprise upon entering a cavern that is quite clearly _not_ naturally made.

For one, naturally occurring caverns aren’t often perfectly square. They also certainly don’t have wide basins resting on pedestals, four on each side of the cave, lining a path that leads the length of the cavern. Nor do natural caverns have a wide flat pillar covered in carvings or the low flat stone of an altar standing before it.

All of this Dean catches in a single glimpse before his torch hits the floor and snuffs out, plunging the room into darkness. The last thing he sees is those glowing blue eyes peering around the edge of the altar, a massive muzzle filled with teeth beneath them.

“Shit!” He drops to his knees and scrambles for the torch with one hand while fumbling for the his flint and steel with the other. “Holy _fuck_.”

Whatever hold the eyes had on him – whatever it was about them that led him to follow them – has shattered. There’s a chill in the cave too, though it’s not as bad as it was outside, but a nervous sweat still prickles across his skin. He didn’t get much of a glance of the face that belongs to those eyes, but it was very distinctly _wolf-like_ and far bigger than any wolf he’s ever seen in his lifetime – and he’s seen _many_ in his lifetime of hunting and trapping.

Over the sound of his rapid breathing and the shuffling as he tries to relight the torch, there is the unmistakable _thump_ of something massive hitting the ground. Dean holds his breath, ears straining to capture every noise over the _clink-psh_ of the flint and steel striking each other in his hands. His blood runs cold and his heart near stops at the quiet pat of giant feet on the stone floor of the cavern, drawing ever nearer.

Warm breath puffs against his face and he stops moving entirely. “Oh _God_.” He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please don’t eat me.”

To his complete and utter surprise, instead of being torn to pieces, a bright light flares up on the other side of his eyelids. The crackling roar of fire and the heat that accompanies it fills his ears and washes over him. It’s one of the last things he expected to hear or feel again.

When he opens his eyes, Dean shrieks and falls backwards on his ass. He digs his heels into the stone and pushes, shuffling backwards to put distance between himself and the atrociously large creature standing mere inches from him. It resembles a wolf in shape only, but its hulking size of its body is more like a bear, if not larger. The fur around its head and across its shoulders is thick and flares out in a mane, the ends of the fur spiked with ice.

The eight basins are filled with roaring bonfires with flames so tall they lick the ceiling. The light of it dyes the white and gray of the wolf’s fur in shifting oranges and reds. Its blue eyes are still an unearthly blue and fixed firmly on Dean’s face.

He knows what this is. The Natives of the area of spoken of it before. Dean swallows thickly, once again mesmerized by those eyes and unable to look away. “A-are you a _Shunka Warak’in_?”

“Amarok, actually.”

Dean doesn’t quite shriek again, but he does squeak in surprise at the deep rumble of a voice that answers him. He flinches back and the wolf tilts its head to one side, regarding him with – is that _amusement_? A rumbling huff shakes through the creature and he realizes, belatedly, that the damn thing is _laughing_ at him.

“It’s understandable that you didn’t recognize what I am.” Amarok lays down on its belly and crosses its front paws before it. “I’m from the very far North and my kind didn’t usually come this far South.”

His legs are still unnervingly close to the creature and Dean draws them up to his chest. If he tries to make a run for it, the beast might attack him. This could be the equivalent of playing with one’s food. And it’s _so fucking warm_ here. The fires that sprang to life from nowhere have heated the room to the point that Dean almost wants to take off his cloak. The melting snow has soaked into it, making it feel damp and heavy around him.

Amarok is suddenly on its feet again and Dean twitches back again. The first paw forward has him scrambling back and away, but Amarok is faster. In a few quick steps it has a paw, bigger than Dean’s head, firmly placed on his chest and pushing him down. His pack digs uncomfortably into his back and he sucks in a sharp breath as that muzzle full of teeth dips down towards him.

Dean brings his arms up to shield his face. “Don’t eat me!”

“I _can’t_ eat you.” Amarok huffs, still amused, and starts nosing at the folds of Dean’s cloak where they’re fastened together under his chin. “I’m the guardian spirit of this mountain. The only food I can eat is whatever is offered to me on my alter.”

“Then what the hell are you _doing_?” He drops his arms and tilts his head to try and watch Amarok use its teeth to undo the buttons and clasps that hold his cloak together all down his chest.

With a frustrated growl, Amarok’s silvery ice covered form shimmers. It starts to shrink and change until it’s a very _Human_ looking man straddling Dean’s thighs. A fur cloak that looks just like that of Amarok’s wolf form is draped across the man’s shoulders. Beneath it he wears a simple white tunic belted over dark pants. His bare feet are pressed alongside Dean’s calves. Those piercing blue eyes haven’t changed at all, but now they’re not focused on Dean’s face and instead on his chest.

“I’m removing your cloak.” Amarok mutters darkly, but breaks into a smile of triumph when the first clasp comes undone. “It’s wet and you could catch your death of cold in it. I haven’t lost anyone on this mountain in _years_ and I’m not about to break my streak with you now.”

Any answer Dean _might_ have had is moot in the face of Amarok’s change. Normally he’s _much_ happier to have a man as handsome as this spirit be sitting in his lap, and it’s been too long a time since he’s seen any kind of action, but this really isn’t the ideal situation. Because _this is a spirit_. How is he able to touch him? Why does he have two forms? Do all spirits have multiple forms like him? And how did Amarok know that his cloak was getting uncomfortable? Can he read minds?

“Yes, but no.” Amarok’s lips are pink but chapped like he’s been out in the wind for too long. They quirk in an amused smile. “I haven’t seen a soul as bright as yours in quite some time and it reflects your thoughts nicely. Most people I see have such murky and messy souls that I can’t read them very easily.”

Shit.

Another clasp comes undone and Amarok continues on to the next one without hesitation. “I can’t confirm for you if other spirits have multiple forms like I do. I’ve never met another one.” And there goes another clasp. “As for why I can touch you –” Amarok lifts his hand and drags his fingers lightly across Dean’s cheek where his scarf has slipped low. It’s a fleeting touch before he returns to his task. “I assume it’s because I’m not _just_ a spirit anymore.”

“Then what are you?” Dean takes the weight off his pack by shrugging out of it and his cloak when the final clasp is undone.

Amarok shrugs and sits back on his heels. “The people of this region hailed me as a god when I came here. I made this mountain my home and they built the shrine to ask me to protect them.” He gets to his feet and spreads his hands to gesture at the cavern around them. “When I died, I found myself bound to the mountain with powers I certainly never had when I was living and I was still able to touch the living world. So I’ve been guarding it and what few people still remain here.”

“So you’re a _god_?” Dean stays seated on the floor, watching as Amarok walks over to one of the basins to examine the fire. He doesn’t know much about dealing with gods, what with him not exactly being a right and proper Christian in any sense of the word, but Dean has the feeling that he’s not supposed to get any higher than his knees in front of them, right?

“Maybe not in the conventional sense, but that’s what they used to worship me as after I died.” Amarok hums to himself and continues down the line of basins until he reaches the altar with the carved stone pillar behind it. He reaches out and runs his fingers over the carvings. “It was nice to feel appreciated, so I did my best for them.”

“What happened to all the people?” The safest thing to do right now, even if Amarok means him no harm, is to keep him talking. You’re supposed to make offerings to gods, right? Dean drags his pack around into his lap to start searching out the dried meats he has. It’s nothing amazing, but it might be enough to buy him a safe place to wait out the storm.

“Moved away. Died. Traditions were lost and no one has been to my shrine in _ages_.” Amarok sighs, the longing and loneliness pitches his voice into something wistful. “The last visitors were a pair of children, but they didn’t get this far into the tunnels.” After a pause, he turns and his eyes shine brighter than the light of the fires. “But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Dean freezes and looks up from where he’s just found what remains of his meal provisions. “I –” Is he talking about him and Sam when they went exploring? “How did you know that was me?”

“I watched over the two of you much as I did today.” Amarok shrugs and crosses his arms; leaning a hip against the altar. “I tried leading you to my altar then too, but your father stopped you from getting this far. If I had succeeded, maybe I would have had worshipers to visit me again.”

“But how did you know it was _me_?” He looks nothing like he did as a child.

Amarok tilts his head and smiles softly. “I told you that you have a very bright soul. I recognized it the moment you stepped foot on my mountain. As I do every winter when you return.”

Dean gets to his feet, leaving his cloak and pack where they lay. He slaps at his pants to rid them of the dirt and dust that clings to them. “Do you watch Sammy too?”

“Your brother? Of course.” With a wave of his hand, Amarok turns the dancing flames in one of the basins into a shimmering sheet of fire. It clears in the center to show Sam standing at the window of his cabin, watching the driving snow with a worried face. “I can see anything on this mountain whenever I want. He’s worried that you haven’t arrived yet.”

Without realizing it, Dean has crossed the room to stand before the basin. He resists the urge to reach out for his brother. “Are you able to communicate with him from here?”

“No, that lies beyond my abilities.” Amarok’s voice is suddenly at his shoulder and Dean jumps in surprise. “But I’ll escort you safely to his home once the snow has subsided.”

“Can’t you control the weather?”

Again, Amarok shakes his head. “Those who made this shrine for me once thought I did, but all I can do is watch over the people on the mountain.” A small smile tilts across his lips while he watches Sam move about his cabin. “A bit ironic, given that the Amarok are known in the North to hunt and eat those foolish enough to hunt alone at night.”

Wait a second. Dean turns to him and frowns. “I thought _you_ were Amarok.”

“I was _an_ Amarok when I was alive.” He looks amused again, as if his sole source of entertainment is Dean’s confusion. “Amarok is the name the people of the ice in the North use for a breed of wolf as large as a bear. Thus my other form.”

Would it be rude to ask a pseudo-god – demigod? – if they have a name? “So you’re _not_ Amarok?”

“No one has ever thought to ask if I have a name, but I do.” He smiles, wide and bright, almost giddy. The fur of his cloak ripples, rising as if he’s puffing up in excitement. “I was once an Amarok, but my _name_ is Castiel – or Cas, if you prefer.”

“Oh.” It really suits him. Dean nods and gestures at himself. “I'm Dean.”

“I know.” Cas hums and tilts his head, showing off pointed canines with his smile. “But it’s a pleasure to officially meet you.”

Great. Well, now that they’ve got that out of the way, Dean can get to what he stood up to do. He’s rusty as all hell with making offerings to gods, but he’s pretty sure it’s a good idea to know their name before you accidentally make the offering to the wrong god.

With that information, he passes Cas so he can step up to the altar. The beef jerky in his hands is old and tough, but it’s better than offering bread to a wolf. He has a skin of wine and he lays both that and the jerky in the center of the stone altar. Cas gasps off to his side and Dean can feel his presence as he approaches to watch.

He claps his hands together and lowers his head. “Uh – Please oh Cas, great god of the mountain, accept this – um – humble offering as thanks for saving my life and shit.” Dean pauses, mulling over what else he should include in his mockery of a prayer. “And as thanks for watching over Sammy and keeping him safe. Means a lot. So, yeah. Enjoy?”

When he opens his eyes again, Cas is standing on the other side of the altar. His too-blue eyes are wide and shining as he stares down at the meager offering. Dean doesn’t think it’s much, but Cas looks like he just served up a six course meal.

There’s a reverence to him as he reaches out and picks up the wine skin. Cas’s hand trembles slightly as he pulls the stopper out and takes a long draw from the spout. A low groan rumbles in his chest and it feels like it echoes through the chamber. Dean certainly feels it rock through him and he’s instantly embarrassed by the sudden heat that flares to life in his belly.

“I can’t remember the last time I had _wine_.” Cas groans and licks the drops from his lips. He tilts his head back to drain the skin, and Dean maybe pays far too much attention than he should to how his throat works while swallowing.

Cas puts the wine skin aside once it’s empty and starts to unwrap the cloth holding the beef jerky. His eyelids flutter at the first bite and he groans again. “I don’t think food tasted this good even when I was still alive! Thank you. This has been an _excellent_ offering.”

Gods shouldn’t be allowed to be attractive. It’s not good for lowly, lonely mortals like Dean who are so very _weak_ to a handsome face. Especially when he’s been too busy lately with avoiding the law whenever he’s in a town to actually pursue anyone to deal with that loneliness. It’s going to be a _tough_ winter, considering that he won’t be seeing another Human again until the spring when he and Sam head down the mountain with the furs and skins for trading.

A low hum from the other side of the altar pulls Dean from his thoughts again. He hadn’t realized that he’d lapsed into silence for so long. It takes a moment longer for him to remember that his thoughts are apparently on full display with his supposedly bright soul. Cas is regarding him again with a tilted head while chewing slowly, almost thoughtfully, on the beef jerky.

Oh God. Heat burns hot through his face and it has nothing to do with the fires warming the cavern.

Cas swallows thickly and licks his lips again. “If it makes you feel any less embarrassed, I think you’re quite handsome too.”

Oh _God_.

Dean covers his face with his hands and groans. “I think I’d prefer if you ate me.”

Cas’s rough laugh echoes off the walls of the cavern, a pleasant sound that sends shivers down Dean’s spine whether he wants it to or not. His smile is almost wicked when Dean peeks through his fingers to see what that laugh looks like. “Then sit on the altar and I’ll devour you as sweetly as one with a soul as bright as yours deserves.”

He suspected when he first entered this shrine that he wouldn’t be leaving it unscathed, and he was right. Dean is fairly certain that this god is going to make him die of embarrassment before the storm outside comes to an end.

**To Be Continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A NSFW continuation is in Prompt #28.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646261/chapters/50717813)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, original female characters
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, teacher!AU, 
> 
> **Prompt** :  
>  _grangerdanger-xo: Married!Destiel / Teacher!AU with Dean as the autoshop teacher (loud and rough around the edges) and Castiel as the history teacher (quiet and composed). Polar opposites that no one realizes is married. New teachers hit on them and they brush it off until they… don’t._
> 
> The original prompt had way more detail and was much longer than the above, but I summarized and whittled it down into a little more of a prompt-like format.

**PROMPT #11**

“You’re not going to believe what happened to me today.” Dean drops into the chair on the other side of Castiel’s desk and immediately kicks his boots up on it, nearly knocking over the pencil cup.

With a sigh, Castiel reaches over and pushes his feet off. “Rules of home still carry over to school, Dean. Keep your feet off my desk and tables.”

“Hey, they’re my tables too.” He sticks his tongue out before scooting his chair closer. “Now ask me what happened today. And gimme my lunch.” He makes grabby hands at the large cooler that Castiel produces from under his desk. After a pause, he turns a devastating smile on him. “ _Please_?”

That’s the smile that Castiel first fell in love with and, try as he might, he simply can’t refuse it. He rolls his eyes and passes the cooler over to him, knowing that Dean will get everything set out far faster than he will. “What happened to you today?”

“You know that new math teacher, Ms. Maggie?” Dean pops the lid on the cooler and starts setting out the containers that make up their shared lunch – mostly leftovers from last night’s dinner re-purposed into easy to eat sandwiches. “The one with the skirts that show a little _too_ much legs for a teacher? Y’know, the one that just transferred here from Parkwest Academy?”

Of course he does. Her classroom is just next door and Castiel has been stopped by her more than once in the hall to answer questions about where certain rooms are located in the school. “What about her?”

“She totally hit on me this morning!” Dean throws his head back with a laugh and starts opening containers, starting with the snack so he can eat a chip before Castiel can glare at him for starting in on dessert before his actual meal.

If Castiel wasn’t completely and absolutely positive that Dean only has eyes for him, he might find himself a little jealous that someone hit on his husband. But since he knows Dean is utterly devoted to him, all he feels is amusement. “Oh really? Is it because you took the bike to work today?”

“No one can resist my Harley, or my baby.”

With a wistful sigh, Dean places a hand over his heart and glances out the window next to the desk. Castiel’s classroom has a particularly good view of the parking lot and from here they can see both the motorcycle he rode here today and the Impala parked next to it that Castiel had driven. Normally they drive together, but they come in separately when Dean has the wrestling team to coach after school.

“I’m well aware of the allure of your vehicles.” He hums and takes a bite out of his turkey sandwich. “If it wasn’t for those, I might not have married you.”

“Bullshit.” Dean hisses and slaps his hand down on the desk. He leans forward, eyes sparking with mischief as he drops his voice into a register he knows he’s not supposed to use at work – if only because of what it does to Castiel. “You stayed because the sex is phenomenal and the pancakes I made you the morning after just sealed the deal.”

A shiver runs down his spine and Castiel does his best not to let it show. “For your ego, I’ll let you continue to believe that’s why I love you.”

“Fuckin’ _sap_.” He laughs again and throws a grape at him. It bounces off Castiel’s cheek and rolls across the desk. “So as I was _saying_ , Maggie comes up to me all swaying hips and fluttering eyelashes when I pulled up on the Harley and starts asking me questions about it. Where I got it, how long I’ve had it, if I can give her a _ride_ sometime. Y’know, the usual stuff.”

“Oh of _course_.” Castiel rolls his eyes and pops the wayward grape into his mouth. “The usual stuff.”

Dean takes a particularly large bite out of his sandwich, talking around it while gesturing with his other hand. “And I’m sitting there with my gloves in my pocket thinking _doesn’t she notice the ring_?”

“To be fair, you _do_ wear it on a necklace.”

Castiel points to the horned pendant hanging against the front of Dean’s shirt and the silver band resting awkwardly against it. He never wears it on his hands at work, for fear of damaging it during class or staining it with oil. Dean does the same when he’s working on his car or bike at home. In fact, he rarely actually wears it on his left ring finger. Castiel is the only one between the two of them who actually maintains that tradition.

“Hm, point.” Dean looks down at his chest and gently traces the curved edge of the ring. “Yeah, anyways, so I told her I’m not in the habit of giving co-workers rides on the bike unless they’re experienced at _riding_.” He looks up and arches an eyebrow just enough for Castiel to realize that he’s making an innuendo.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re so hot when you use big words.” He rests his elbows on the desk, props his chin in his hands, and flutters his eyelashes. “Talk smart to me, Cas. You know how it revs my engines _so hard_.”

Castiel covers his mouth with a hand while he swallows, afraid he might laugh and make a mess. He shakes his head and tries to glare over his hand because they’re not supposed to talk like that when they’re at school (for a multitude of reasons). What if a student heard them flirting together? He’d rather not sit through the lectures from the administration again from when they first started dating a few years ago.

Even so, his glare probably comes out looking more fond than intended. It’s hard to be mad at Dean when his ridiculousness is part of what drew Castiel to him in the first place.

*

“Mr. Novak?”

A knock at the door and a quiet voice distracts Castiel from the quizzes he’s marking. Dates are sometimes difficult to remember, so he tries to always have them be multiple choice if he ever has them in a quiz, but there are some students who are just persistently terrible at them. He’s going to have to find a way to help them remember.

Standing at the door is a portly young woman and it takes him a moment to recognize her as the new librarian, Ms. Reid. He remembers thinking that she personified the stereotype of quiet librarians to a tee when he was first introduced to her. Ms. Reid’s hair is coming out of a bun in wisps and her glasses are almost too big for her face. Despite it being a warm May day, she’s wearing a thick wool cardigan. She’s half his height and blushing a bright red.

He takes the glasses off that he uses to read and gestures for her to come into the classroom. “Can I help you, Ms. Reid?”

She flushes darkly again as she shuffles into the room, hands twisting at the hem of her cardigan. “I – um – I was just wondering if you’re free to have lunch with me today?”

Castiel moves his papers to take a look at the schedule he keeps written on a large desk calendar. As much as he and Dean try to have lunch together, there are some days where it’s just not possible given their schedules or meetings they might have. He only ever writes on his calendar the days that they _don’t_ have plans to eat together.

That said, there’s nothing written in for today aside from the quiz. He looks up with a soft smile. “I’m sorry, but I already have plans. Perhaps another time?”

“O-oh, of course.” Ms. Reid ducks her head and waves her hands in front of her face. “It’s okay. Don’t mind me!” She excuses herself quickly and disappears around the edge of the door.

He doesn’t have the chance to return to his quizzes before Dean steps into the room, their lunch cooler dangling from his fingers. “What was that about?”

“She was asking me to lunch.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking _adorable_.” Dean kicks the door shut behind him as he steps into the room. He at least has the courtesy of waiting for Castiel to move his quizzes out of the way before putting the cooler down. “Now we’ve _both_ been asked out by the newbies.”

Castiel rolls his eyes as he straightens his papers before putting them aside. “I’m not sure asking your co-worker to lunch counts as being _asked out_.”

“The way she was blushing? It absolutely counts.” He flashes his teeth in a wicked grin. “And I wouldn’t be wishing you went by your married name at work if it was _just_ a lunch date she was asking for.”

“Mr. Winchester!” Castiel puts his hand to his chest and adopts a look of faux surprise. “Is that _jealousy_ I hear? I’m _insulted_ you would think that I am anything but a devoted –”

Dean reaches across the desk to cover Castiel’s mouth with his hand. It smells faintly of soap and engine grease. “Don’t give me that. I’ve _always_ been a little possessive where you’re concerned. Can’t help it since I married myself such a mega hottie like you.”

“Oh _please_.” He slaps his hand away and shakes his head. “If anyone is a _mega hottie_ here, it’s _you_.”

To his surprise – and delight – colour actually dusts the curve of Dean’s cheekbones. He ducks his head, murmuring nonsense as he starts unpacking their lunch. Dean can deal out all manner of compliments as easily as he breathes, but taking one always makes him blush as easily as the teenagers they teach. Castiel is tempted to continue, but decides to spare him. For now.

Instead, he accepts the warm container of soup Dean hands him, clearly already reheated. “And how have you been faring with Ms. Maggie?”

“Oh my _God_.” Dean slumps back in his chair and rubs his hands over his face. “I swear if I wasn’t actively trying to avoid her, I’m pretty sure she’d be trying to ask me out _daily_. I bumped into her this morning while getting coffee in the lounge and y’know what she said to me? That she thinks it’s sweet that I carpool with you! And then immediately asked if I was interested in adding a third to the carpool.”

Castiel hides his snort of amusement behind his hand as he reaches for the sleeve of crackers still in the cooler. “We could charge her.”

“I _refuse_.” Dean crosses his arms and glowers at the desk. “The drive to work with you is _my_ time and I’m not letting anyone steal that from me.”

“You do realize that we _live together_ , right?”

“Shut up.” Dean wrinkles his nose and starts preparing his own soup, snagging at least half the crackers to crumble into his own container. “I’m possessive and wanna spend _all_ my time with you. And you knew that when I married you.”

He hums a note of agreement and slides his foot under the desk until he can press it against the side of Dean’s foot. It’s a simple, unassuming gesture that no one would really be able to see, let alone actually notice, should they just walk into the room. Dean still flashes him a smile and starts humming one of his favourite songs to himself as he tucks into his soup.

After a few moments, he stops to tap the back of his spoon against his bottom lip. “How long do you think it’s going to take Reid and Maggie to figure out that we’re married?”

“Well, we don’t exactly hide it.”

But they also don’t flaunt it. They’ve never kissed, held hands, or done anything even remotely romantic at school – their usual lunch date notwithstanding. Actually, now that he thinks about it, their matching rings (of which only he actually wears), the _Mr. Castiel Winchester_ on his paycheck, and the matching mailing address in the system are really the only clues to their relationship. He still goes by _Mr. Novak_ with his students and staff so no one accidentally confuses him with Dean.

“Is it really mean of me to want to see how long it’ll take them to notice?” Dean cocks his head to the side, eyes unfocused as he likely imagines all the different scenarios that the new staff might discover their relationship.

“Yes, absolutely.” Castiel shrugs, quickly polishing off his soup. “You’re such a horrible person that I’ve decided I want a divorce.”

Dean shifts and briefly grinds his heel into the top of Castiel’s foot. He hisses and yanks it free, and lifts his head to find himself on the receiving end of a pouty glare. “Don’t even _joke_ about that, Cas.”

He sighs and reaches out to squeeze one of Dean’s hands. “I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean that.”

“Still don’t like the thought of it.” Dean squeezes back before letting go. After a beat, he’s smiling again and tilts his head towards the stack of papers off to Castiel’s left. “Hey, you want a hand with finishing marking those quizzes?”

History may not have been Dean’s strongest subject when he was in school, but it certainly is now. They both have gotten into the habit of helping each other prepare their lesson plans and testing projects on each other. Dean helped him put his quiz together and knows the correct answers as well as Castiel does. If they finish off the morning batch right now, then he’ll only have the afternoon set to do at home later, effectively saving him a lot of his personal time.

“If we finish marking this batch before next period, I’ll –” Castiel pauses and casts a suspicious look at the door. He leans in and drops his voice into a whisper. “I’ll do that _thing_  with my _tongue_ that you _really_ like.”

Dean flushes dark red in an instant, his gaze laser focused on Castiel’s mouth. To add to the visual, he very slowly licks his lips. This is playing fast and loose with their agreement to keep things _low key_ at school, but Castiel still gets a bit of a thrill when Dean closes his eyes and takes a very obvious breath to steady himself.

When he opens his eyes again, he holds his hand out. “Give me the papers.”

They’ve got twenty minutes until the end of lunch and Castiel doesn’t doubt that Dean will be done well before then. He’s quite an efficient marker when he’s focused.

*

“I can’t take it anymore.” Dean puts the Impala into park and leans forward to rest his forehead against the steering wheel. “We’re chaperoning the dance this Friday and I _swear to God_ I’m going to scream if Maggie tries to ask me to dance with her.”

Castiel reaches out to pat Dean’s shoulder softly. “There, there.”

He bats at his hand to knock it away, but his bottom lip is jutted out in a pout when he lifts his head again. “And what about you and Reid, huh? She baked you a goddamn _pie_ last week, Cas. A _pie_.”

“That’s the path to your heart, Dean, not mine.” Though he would be willing to make an exception for the ones that Dean makes. That might just be favouritism at play, however. Castiel just doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth. He prefers savory or salty over sweet.

“Blasphemer.” Dean grumps and slumps back in his seat. “It’s like they’re _purposefully_ overlooking literally everything that hints to us being married.” He holds up his left hand where he’s recently taken to wearing his ring again when he’s not actually in class. “Seriously she’s never even _glanced_ at it.”

Ms. Reid hasn’t been nearly as forward with Castiel as Ms. Maggie has been to Dean. He can understand his frustrations, though. Ms. Reid has been far more subtle with her flirtations. While Castiel was gifted with a pie last week, it was just a personal-sized one. She also brought in a tray of cupcakes that she left in the teacher’s lounge for everyone else, as if she was trying to make it look like she wasn’t singling him out. Little does she know that Dean was the one who ate the pie later on.

“Let’s go in and get some more coffee.” Castiel leans across the bench seat of the Impala and kisses Dean on the cheek. “You’ll perk up once you’ve had some more caffeine.”

With a groan, Dean gets out of the car. He trudges after Castiel as they make their way into the school. The moment they step through the doors, he’s all smiles and waving enthusiastically to the students who greet them. Castiel simply nods politely, already distracted with opening his planner and double-checking what his plans for the day are or that he has all the materials he needs.

Dean’s hand on his shoulder guides him through the hall, turning him at the appropriate door when they reach the teacher’s lounge. “I still don’t get why you have to check that _again_. You looked at it last night _and_ before we left this morning.”

“I like to be prepared. Not all of us our lucky enough to have our materials delivered directly to their classroom whenever they need them.”

“Perks of auto-shop, baby.”

“Good _morning_ , Dean!” Ms. Maggie is suddenly at Dean’s elbow, a Starbucks cup clutched in her hands. Castiel glances up as she flutters her eyelashes, so focused on Dean that she doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s there too. “How are you this morning?”

Dean’s smile is a little stilted, clearly trying to still remaining polite despite apparently dying inside. “Hi, Mags. I’m – uh – good, I guess. You?”

“Oh, you know!” She laughs, a pleasant tittering noise that Castiel would actually like if it wasn’t wrapped up in a flirtation with his husband. He also doesn’t like how she puts on a hand on Dean’s arm and lets it _linger_.

The look Dean throws him is a desperate one, but Castiel just twitches his shoulder in a shrug and continues towards the coffee machine. Ms. Reid is there already, filling a mug with hot water. She glances up at him with a nervous smile. “Good morning, Mr. Novak.”

“Good morning, Ms. Reid.” He returns her smile as he takes two mugs out of the cupboard. “What’s your tea of choice this morning?”

“Peppermint.” She brightens slightly and holds up the little sachet before dropping it into the steaming mug of water. “I know it’s – um – it’s better suited for the cold months, but I really like the flavour.”

Castiel nods in agreement. “I completely understand.” He pours two cups of coffee, one black and the other he adds a little cream and sugar to. “Every Christmas I end up buying a few extra boxes of candy canes not because they’re fun treats for the students, but because my husband _loves_ snacking on them year round. I think it’s one of his ways of holding on to his favourite holiday for a little longer.”

Ms. Reid’s head pops up at the mention of a _husband_ and Castiel does her the courtesy of not noticing how she looks at his left hand. It’s possible that she has thus far assumed that he simply liked wearing the ring on that finger, especially considering he’s never once made mention of a significant other and he doesn’t keep a picture on his desk. There’s no point of doing that when he sees Dean at work all the time. His does, however, keep his wedding photo in his wallet at all times.

To her credit, Ms. Reid doesn’t look disappointed. Instead she smiles and ducks her head to blow on her tea. “That’s really sweet of you to do, Mr. Novak.”

“Thank you.” He turns with the coffees in hand and his planner tucked under his arm. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to now.” One of his students had e-mailed him last night asking to meet before class because they were having some trouble with the homework due at the end of the week. Since he always encourages that his students come to him when they’re having problems, it’s not like he could have said _no_.

Dean is still trapped by the door with Ms. Maggie, clutching the cooler with their lunches in it like it’s his shield. Ms. Maggie seems to be doing most of the talking and he nods along at intervals because even as brash as he can be, Dean is still polite. She stops talking when Castiel steps up to Dean’s side, standing far closer than he normally would.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” He nods at her and passes Dean the black coffee. “Here, just as you like it.” Before Dean can say anything, Castiel leans in and kisses him full on the lips. “I have to go meet with a student right now, but I’ll see you for lunch. Don’t forget to put the cooler in the fridge.”

Ms. Maggie’s mouth is hanging open when he steps back. Castiel nods at her again, polite smile fixed in place, before ducking around Dean (sporting an equally surprised expression) to continue out of the room. He makes it two steps down the hall before Ms. Maggie’s voice reaches him – pitched higher than normal in her surprise.

“What the _hell_ was that about?”

Castiel stops, if only to hear Dean’s response.

“That – uh – that was husband?” There’s a pause before Dean snorts and starts laughing. “That was absolutely one hundred percent my _ridiculous_ husband!”

“Since when have you been _married_?” She still sounds incredulous and Castiel has to cover his mouth to keep himself from laughing and giving away that he’s eavesdropping.

Dean is still chuckling while he tries to answer. “Going on, like, four years?” He sighs and Castiel bites his lip at the dreamy tone in his voice. “We met when we were student teachers and dated for a good five years before I absolutely had to put a ring on that.”

“I – I had no idea.” Ms. Maggie’s voice drops into a somewhat sulky tone. “I mean, obviously belated congratulations are due.”

“Oh don’t worry about it.” Dean chuckles again, sounding happier talking to Ms. Maggie than he has in weeks. His voice gets a little further away, obviously heading towards the fridge. “I can’t usually wear my ring because of my classwork, and we usually don’t mention being married at work for, y’know, professional reasons.”

By some miracle, Ms. Maggie and none of the other teachers present (most of whom have worked here long enough to already know about their marriage) make mention of the fact that Castiel very much just kissed Dean in front of half the staff. It was _very_ unprofessional and he wouldn’t be surprised if Principal Mills were to call him into her office for a brief reprimand. His only saving grace might be that he didn’t do it in front of the students.

“It was nice chatting with you.” Dean speaks again, closer to the door. “I’ll see you later!” And he ducks out into the hallway before Ms. Maggie or anyone else can say anything.

Castiel puts a finger to his lips when Dean hesitates, surprised to find him still there. Neither says a word as they start down the hall together, both their classrooms in the same wing though Dean’s is on the main floor and Castiel’s is on the third. As soon as they’re out of earshot of the teacher’s lounge, Dean doubles over snickering – still trying to keep at least a little bit quiet. They get a couple odd looks from what few students have arrived this early.

“I can’t believe you _did that_.” Dean bumps his shoulder, eyes crinkled in delight. “You should have seen her _face_ after you left!”

He hums and takes a long sip from his coffee. “I don’t think you’ll be experiencing much trouble with her flirting anymore.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean bumps him again, the closest he’ll give to a hug or a kiss when they’re in the hallways. “Though you _did_ totally ruin my weeks of experimentation.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and continues to hide his smile behind his coffee. “My apologies, but she clearly wasn’t figuring it out on her own that you were married. I didn’t want to have to listen to your complaining anymore.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs and he pauses, glancing around before leaning in to whisper almost directly into Dean’s ear. “And perhaps I decided it necessary to show her that you’re _mine_.”

Red dusts across Dean’s cheeks and he ducks his head with a grin. “Aw geeze, Cas. Cut it out. You’re making me _blush_ at school.”

And Castiel will never admit to just how much he enjoys doing that.

**END**


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline, Sam Winchester, Donna Hanscum, Jessica Moore (mentioned), Jo Harvelle (mentioned), Zachariah Adler (mentioned)
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern(ish), pre-relationship, meet cute
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _wigglebox: Ranch hand Dean on some farm in, like, Arkansas or Oklahoma or whatever. Cas shows up for a family reunion with the people who own the property (highlights some class differences)._

**PROMPT #12**

Dean stood and dropped the hammer into its loop on his tool belt. The cooler in the front seat of his truck and the chilled bottles of water sitting on ice inside it were calling his name, but he stayed where he stood. He tilted his hat back enough to run the back of his hand over his forehead, getting his gloves sweaty – not that it mattered since they’re dirty as sin anyways. His eyes, however, were fixed on the cloud of dust down in the distance.

He pulled a two-way radio from the clip on the back of his belt, double checked it was on the right frequency, and hails his brother. “Hey, Sammy. Just finished putting up the wire on the west fence. Looks like we’ve got some visitors coming in.”

A few moments later, the radio crackled to life with Sam’s response. “ _Great. I’m almost done with the north fence too. Come pick me up._ ”

“You’re just gonna ignore that visitor bit, are you?”

“ _Not my fault you weren’t listening to Jess this morning_.”

Ah, Jess, best damn housekeeper this side of the Arkansas River. Sam’s been courting her basically since the moment he and Dean were hired. The two of them (and a handful of others) keep the ranch functioning and the cows happy, which keeps the Adler’s happy, and Jess keeps the house in order, which also keeps the Adler’s happy, and that’s the important thing. A happy employer is a good employer and thus far Zachariah Adler has been one of the better paying ones that Dean and Sam have had in a long while – despite how Dean privately thinks he’s a giant douche nozzle.

“Refresh my memory, won’t’cha?”

Sam’s sigh makes the static crackle louder. “ _The Adler’s are having some kinda shindig this weekend out on the back lot. Jess is expecting some party planning company to come with tents, tables, chairs – the whole nine yards._ ”

That does spark his memory a bit. In fact, Dean remembers that Jess said it was a _family reunion_. He groans and thumps the radio against his forehead. Shit, that’s going to be _annoying_. Big events here at the ranch mean that all workers have to look _presentable_. That means Dean can’t wear his jeans with the holes in the knees and his shirt can’t have any stains. He’s going to have to wear his _nice_ clothes to work and be _extra careful_ about not getting dirty which – by the way – is fucking _impossible_ given what his job entails. Which, again, means that he has to basically avoid the public spaces and keep to the fields and the barn.

“ _Are you coming to pick me up or not? Donna and Jo can’t move the herd to this pasture until we’re outta here.”_  

Sam’s annoyed tone comes through the radio and it’s quickly followed by a crackling laugh. “ _Ten-four on that Sam!_ ”

“Excuse you, Donna, but this is a _private_ conversation.” Dean teases as he hefts the roll of chicken wire he used to repair the fence. “I don’t recall inviting _you_ into it.”

“ _Watch your attitude, mister! Jess picked up a pack of those powdered donuts for me and if you’re not nice to me, I’m not going to share with you._ ”

Dean tosses the chicken wire into the back of the truck and closes the tailgate. “Donna, Donna, _Donna_. Sweetheart! Love of my _life_ –”

“ _Hm, getting there_.”

“ _Can I interest either of you to get back to work and **come pick me up, Dean**_.” Sam interrupts them with his Getting Annoyed™ tone coming through the radio clearly. Dean can easily picture the bitch face that goes with it.

“Yeah, yeah, ya bitch. Keep your ponytail on. I’m a-coming.”

He tosses the radio into the truck before hauling himself up into the driver’s seat. The AC starts blowing the moment he turns it on, though the air is still hot. It’ll take a minute to cool down. In the meantime, he’s got ice cold water. Dean cracks one open as he puts the truck into gear and pulls off the shoulder of the road back onto the gravel proper.

The dust cloud he saw before is _much_ closer now and he can see that it’s two vehicles; a car and a big box van. They pass him as he heads around the edge of the pasture to the dirt lane that leads to Sam and the hole he was fixing on the north fence. Dean shares his water before they make their way back to the main road again to head back to the ranch.

Now that the fence is repaired, Jo and Donna can move to pasture three. With the herd moved, Dean and Sam get to spend the afternoon re-seeding pasture two so the grass will grow back nice and thick by the time the herd is rotated back to it in a few weeks. Then it’s supper, grooming for the horses, and calling it quits for the day. Dean is already daydreaming about his bed back at the house where he and Sam currently rent rooms on the edge of town.

As much as he loves taking care of the cattle and horses, and as much as he loves working outdoors and being hands on with literally everything he does, Dean _also_ really enjoys a hot shower and a soft bed. He’s a simple man with simple tastes. The only thing he splurges money on is good food and taking care of his 1967 Chevy Impala that he painstakingly keeps in tip-top condition. Which is why tomorrow’s family reunion – something he’s not even invited to, mind you – is already bugging him.

Just knowing what he knows about his boss, Mr. Adler, he knows that it’s going to be an exorbitant party with fancy food in tiny portions. Everyone is probably going to show up in fancy clothes that have no business being on a ranch. Depending on the type of music, they could spook the animals if it gets too loud and God help them if the milking cows get agitated. Dean will _never_ hear the end of it if anything happens to the milk machines.

And that’s not even touching on the kind of people he knows Mr. Adler must be related to. They’re likely the kind who would probably complain about the smell of the ranch, even though pasture three (where the cows are going to be for the next week or so) is usually downwind of the back forty where the party will be taking place. The barn, however, is much closer and it doesn’t matter how often they muck the stalls and haul the horse manure elsewhere. It still has the kind of _smell_ that snooty people, Mr. Adler’s people, tend to turn their nose up at.

Hopefully the reunion is only one day and not some kind of week-long affair. Dean’s not sure if he can tolerate more than a day of having to deal with the kind of people who make more money in a day than he probably sees in a year. He can work for Mr. Adler, and accept his money, but that doesn’t mean he has to like the guy.

* * *

 

By some miracle, Dean hasn’t met a single person today that he doesn’t call a co-worker. He arranged his schedule to guarantee that he’s essentially on the farthest end of the property away from the whole party and it’s worked like a charm. Sam and Donna, being the people persons that they are, were happy to take care of all the work required in or near the barn. That freed Dean up to run his rounds with checking every inch of the fences for all three cow pastures _and_ the horses’ field, repairing the chicken coop, marking gopher holes, and generally keeping himself busy enough that he doesn’t even really think about the party.

The sun is dipping pretty close to the horizon when he finally runs out of things to do and has no choice but to return to the barn. The horse he took out for the day, Comet, seems pretty happy as soon as he turns her nose in that direction. She gets a little pep in her step and almost prances the whole way back. He had carrots as treats and she grazed throughout the day, and there’s water troughs dotted all over the fields, so she’s not starving or thirsty. Knowing her, she’s excited for the grooming that he gives whenever they’ve been out all day.

Sam lucked out and got to leave early with Jess for a _date night_. Those crazy kids earned it, honestly. Jess worked extra hours all week to make sure the main house was in tip top shape for the reunion, and she helped organize the whole damn thing. The Adler’s hired outside help to actually work the event, so Jess really had nothing to do once she was done with her daily tasks. Thus – _freedom_. Sam _also_ worked his ass off today to be done early so they could go be gross together.

Dean dismounts next to the doors and eyes the doors of the stable. They’re hanging open slightly, so Donna or Jo must be in. It’s been about an hour since when the horses should have been returned from their time out in the field, but it’s not unusual for one of the girls to hang back to make sure everyone has fresh hay and water after getting all the horses back into their stalls.

That said, he doesn’t see either of them when he pushes the door open all the way to lead Comet inside. What he _does_ see is an unfairly attractive guy in a suit balancing a toddler on his hip while trying to get the latch open to one of the stalls – which isn’t going to work because those latches are big, heavy, and require two hands to open. The stall in question belongs to Sassafras, who happens to be a pregnant mare. She’s also one of their older horses, in her late teens, and she’s had two miscarriages for the last few attempts at foaling, so the fact that this one took is a little bit of a miracle.

Now, it’s no secret to anyone that Dean loves all the animals on the farm (except for Dick, the rooster who likes to try and attack him – and _only_ him – if he goes anywhere near the coop in the morning). That said, Dean is _exceptionally_ protective of the pregnant animals – Sassafras in particular, given her history. She’s pretty sensitive and hasn’t been handling her failed foalings well. Any unexpected surprises, like a visit from a stranger and his toddler, could stress her out.

He opens his mouth to shout at the guy and kick him out for being where he’s not supposed to be, but stops dead in his tracks. Sassafras, who is notorious for staying at the back of her stall and never approaching the gate when someone else was on the other side of it, leans her head over the divide to sniff at the stranger. Immediately, the stranger stops fussing with the latch and starts rubbing his hand from between her eyes right down to the tip of her nose.

“Hello, Sassy.” The guy hasn’t noticed Dean and he’s all smiles as Sassafras nickers softly and bumps her nose against his chest. “Yes, it _has_ been a while hasn’t it? Sorry for that. As you can see, I’ve been a bit busy.” He gestures at the kid currently sucking his thumb while staring wide-eyed at the horse.

Sassafras doesn’t seem to care. She keeps nudging at his chest and then dips her head, sniffing at his hip. The guy cups her chin and guides her head up again. “You always were bad at being patient. I want to introduce you to Jack first.”

“Hi Jack.” Dean decides right then is an ideal time to interrupt, because he really does have to get Comet de-saddled, groomed, and back in her stall if he wants to go home today.

The guy whips around so fast that he damn near beans Sassafras in the face with his kid. She pulls her head out of the way with an annoyed huff. Dean stares the guy down for a moment before lifting his hand in a little wave. “And hi stranger.”

“Castiel.” The guy corrects. “My name is Castiel.”

“Howdy, Cas. I’m Dean.” He tips his hat in greeting and pastes a customer service type smile on his face. No doubt this guy is somehow related to Mr. Adler. “Not sure if you’re aware, but visitors aren’t allowed in here without supervision, especially when we’ve got pregnant mares.”

Cas tips his head to the side and then turns to look at Sassafras, another big smile taking over. “Are you pregnant, Sassy?”

She nickers and starts sniffing at his pocket again, nudging him roughly with her nose. Dean raises an eyebrow and leads Comet closer. “Yeah, she’s about four months along. The foal should only be about this big right now.” He holds his hands about seven-ish inches apart.

“Comet here is going to have a little brother.” Dean pats Comet on the side of the head and she completely ignores him. Her eyes are focused on her stall a little further down the row. She probably wants to go to bed about as much as he does.

“Well, then congratulations are in order.” Cas digs a hand into his pocket and pulls out a couple sugar cubes. She shuffles on her hooves and noisily licks them out of his palm.

Dean clears his throat. “For the record, we also don’t like people feeding our animals anything without our approval. Sugar cubes are okay and all, but you should check with one of us first.”

Cas sighs and fixes Dean with an annoyed frown. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t know whether you do or don’t. But it’s my job to keep these animals safe or Mr. Adler’ll have my hide, so I gotta nitpick ya. Sorry, buddy.” Dean shrugs and continues past him. The least he should do is put Comet away safely in her stall until Cas has left the stables and Dean can focus on getting her cooled down for the night.

“My name isn’t _buddy_.” Cas turns the full force of his frown on him, complete with forehead wrinkles and crinkled nose. “It’s _Castiel_.” He pauses. “I’ll accept _Cas_ because the children call me that too and you might have heard it from them.”

And there’s all the confirmation Dean needs to know that Cas is from the family reunion. “I haven’t been around any kids since May when Mr. Adler allowed that school group to come through to see what it’s like on a farm.” He shrugs and gives Cas a pointed look. “Mr. Adler generally doesn’t like people coming in here unless they work here or he gave them his permission. I wasn’t radioed with that permission.”

It’s not that he _wants_ to be a dick about this. Maybe the guy just wanted to show his kid the horses, even though he seems to have some kind of weird relationship with Sassafras. Whatever the case, it really is Dean’s ass on the line if Mr. Adler finds out that someone was in here without his permission. He’s kinda controlling like that.

“Zachariah won’t care that I’m in here.” Cas rolls his eyes and turns back to start petting Sassafras again, his expression softening almost immediately. “Isn’t that right, Sassy?”

“Y’know, I’m starting to get the feeling that you’ve got history with her.” Dean at least takes the bridle off Comet before he shuts her in his stall. There’s one last carrot in his pocket and he passes it to her over the door to placate her for still having the saddle on while he deals with their guest.

Cas shrugs and takes one of Jack’s hands. “You wouldn’t be wrong.” He leans forward and gently guides him into petting Sassafras between the eyes until he gets the hint on how to do it himself. “Sassy was my horse when I lived out here. I couldn’t take her with me when my work took me to New York.”

Dean has to take a moment to go through his mental catalogue of all the horses and their histories. If he’s not mixing up horses here, then he’s pretty sure that Sassafras was a show horse when she was younger. They keep the barn pretty bare bones, so there aren’t any pictures of her or awards on shelves in her stall, but he’s almost positive that she was pretty good. Why else would Mr. Adler have her and be breeding her? He only likes to breed the best.

He leans his hip against the stretch of wall that separates Sassafras’s door from her neighbour’s. “Were you the one riding her in the shows or are you one of those guys who owns the horse but other people do all the work and train ‘em?”

Again, Cas tilts his head to the side. But this time he turns a narrowed eyed look on Dean. “Do you _really_ work for Zachariah?”

That’s not quite what Dean was expecting. He arches an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “Uh – yeah? Have been for, like, the last year. Why?”

“He would fire you on the spot if he knew you were speaking to me so casually.” Cas hefts Jack a little more in his arms when the toddler tilts in to rest his head against his shoulder, eyes drooping. “He has the notion that the help should be seen and not heard, unless spoken to.”

Yup, that sounds like Mr. Adler alright. But, having worked for him for a year, Dean has gotten a good grasp of his priorities. “Yeah, but I also know that he’d skin me alive and _then_ fire me if I just let any ol’ person hang around his horses without supervision.” Especially given that all the horses are either show or race worthy.

“He’ll make the exception for me.” Cas hums and starts swaying, apparently trying to rock Jack to sleep. His free hand is still on Sassafras, rubbing lightly up and down her face. She seems to like it, her eyes closed and head tilted into the touch.

“Because you used to own her?” Of the things that Dean knows about Mr. Adler, he _also_ knows that he only cares about what benefits him. The only reason he’s probably hosting the family reunion is that he’s got the space for it and it makes him look good in the eyes of the family. Dollars to donuts says this guy is related to Mr. Adler is some way, but that still doesn’t mean he’s got a free pass to the stables.

Cas guides Sassafras’s head up and presses a kiss to the top of her nose. She nickers softly, almost sleepily, and he smiles at her. “That and because it states explicitly in our contract that I can see her whenever I wish. I pay for her care, so Sassy still belongs to me and he just stables her with the occasional attempts at breeding now that she’s retired.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of her belonging to someone else.”

“I suspect that you don’t actually speak to Zachariah often, do you?”

Dean snorts and shakes his head. “Seen but not heard, remember?”

And as much as that rule irks him on an ethical level, he kinda appreciates that it makes his job easier. Mr. Adler is the kind of boss who issues an order and expects it to be carried out to a T. If it isn’t, you’re gone pretty quick. But if you’re a good hard worker, he leaves you alone. The less interference from the boss, the better Dean works and the more he likes his job. Mr. Adler might be condescending and an asshole when they _do_ talk, but he’s not being a cheap skinflint when it comes to the paycheck.

Instead of answering, Cas just gives him an amused kind of side-eye. It takes Dean a minute for his brain to bitch slap him with the reminder that he knows next to _nothing_ about this guy. If he prescribes to the same ideals as Zachariah regarding ‘ _the help_ ’, then he might actually be secretly pissed that he’s being talked to so casually. That could lead to him making a complaint against him to Mr. Adler. Any rules about strangers in the barn won’t matter in the face of a _complaint_ because he’ll see that as an insult or be embarrassed and _fuck_.

He clears his throat suddenly and steps away from the wall. “Well – uh – since you’re so familiar with Sassafras and all, I’ll just leave you to your visit and deal with Comet.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”

How do you go about asking someone _not_ to lodge a complaint about you? Dean shifts on his feet, trying to pick out the right words before getting back to Comet (who is, surprisingly, waiting patiently to be brushed once the saddle is removed).

Cas actually glances at him when he lingers for a little too long. Maybe Dean’s mild internal panic is showing on his face or something, because Cas’s expression softens. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t share in most of Zachariah’s opinions regarding _anything_.” He actually smiles _at Dean_ and his heart skips a beat. “Not many people talk to someone in my position so candidly, and I appreciate your unreserved methods of ensuring the safety of these animals.”

There aren’t many things that make Dean blush, but that turns out to be one of them. He ducks his head and runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Uh – thanks, I guess? I’m gonna – yeah.” Dean clears his throat and turns to go deal with Comet. “Just gimme a shout if you need anything, ‘kay?”

“I will. Thank you.”

Dean ducks into Comet’s stall without looking back. She stamps her hooves a few times as he starts undoing the saddle, but calms down with some good rubs to her neck. Her tail flicks and she tosses her head when it’s time for the brushing, but holds still because this is her favourite thing. It doesn’t hurt that she gets a couple sugar cubes herself as a treat for being so well behaved, and for having to wear the saddle longer than he knows she likes.

By the time he’s done, Cas is still standing and talking softly to Sassafras with Jack asleep against his shoulder. He stays until Dean has finished hanging the saddle and bridle before silently following him out into the open air again. Dean turns down the lights in the stables, but only after calling goodnight to all the horses. It’s habit and he only kicks himself for it afterwards when he realizes Cas is _right there_. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about it.

The reunion is still apparently in full swing, but Cas sends a pinched look towards the lights and music on the other side of the house, separated from them by the parking lot that has become the space in front of the barn where they park all the farm equipment.

“Not interested in getting back into the thick of things, huh?”

“Why do you think I brought Jack?” Cas gives him a smug smile. “He’s the perfect excuse to having to leave a party early.” He tilts his head towards the house. “We’re staying the night, so I guess we’ll just be turning in now.”

With a laugh, Dean taps the side of his head. “That’s thinkin’ with your noggin.” He glances towards the house and takes a mental count of all the cars parked between here and there, and of how many bedrooms he knows are in the McMansion of a house. “Is _everyone_ staying over tonight? You and your baby mama might have to share a bunk with more than just Jack.”

“There is no baby mama.” Cas rolls his eyes and starts walking towards the house. Dean tags along, if only because his truck is in that direction. “I adopted Jack.”

So he’s a _single_ dad? Sweet.

It takes the rest of the walk to the house for an idea to strike. “So you’re going to be here in the morning, right?”

Cas turns with his foot on the first step up onto the porch. “Yes, that’s generally what ‘ _staying the night_ ’ tends to mean.”

Dean resists the urge to make a face at him and gestures over his shoulder. “I’m going to be back bright and early. It’s not something we do often, but taking visitors for trail rides is also part of my job – if you’re interested in going on a little walk with Sassafras. It’s good for her and the pregnancy to get some exercise as long as we don’t push her too hard.”

“I would like that.” His smile is back, bright and gorgeous and has Dean’s heart skipping a beat _again_. Even steals his breath a little bit. “My mother should be alright watching Jack while we’re out riding.” Cas pauses and his smile falls slightly. “Are you sure this won’t interfere with your duties? I don’t want you to get in trouble with Zachariah.”

“Nah, it’ll be okay.” He waves a hand before shoving them in his pockets. “Mr. Adler can’t exactly get mad at me if I’m just following the requests of one of his guests, can he? Imagine how bad that would make him look.”

A little twinkle of mischief shines in Cas’s eye. “He does care quite a bit about how people perceive him, doesn’t he?”

He covers his mouth to muffle a quiet laugh and holy _shit_ it’s an awesome sound. It makes Dean’s own smile grow about six times bigger. Tomorrow morning he’s going to do his damnedest to get Cas to laugh out loud, just to hear what it sounds like proper.

And then it hits him. He’s _smitten_. Dear God, he’s smitten with a relative of his boss. His boss who has a very _firm_ idea about Dean’s place in the world. From what he’s seen of Cas so far, he doesn’t seem to share in that mindset, and maybe that’s a bit of his charm. He grew up in Mr. Adler’s world and didn’t turn out to be a snot-nosed brat like some of the other people Dean has had the misfortune of meeting during his time working here.

This is _not good_. There are factors to consider here! Dean hasn’t gotten much of a lead on which side of the fence Cas might be standing on, let alone if he’d be actually interested in _him_. Flirting has been – non-existent thus far. And, let’s not forget the important part; Cas apparently lives in _New York_. That might as well be on the other side of the world.

Fuck.

It’s too late to take back his offer to go riding together tomorrow morning. And, to be honest, Dean really doesn’t want to take it back. All those factors don’t change that he’s got this little bubble of _need_ sitting under his ribs now that won’t be satisfied until he’s got Cas laughing so hard that he’s going to fall out of his saddle.

“It was nice meeting you, Dean.” Cas holds his hand out, effectively pulling him out of his mini-mental breakdown. “I look forward to taking your tour of the trails tomorrow morning. It’s been a long time since I last saw them.”

“Y-yeah.” He swallows thickly and subtly wipes his hand on his jeans before shaking Cas’s hand. It might be his imagination, but he’s almost sure there’s an honest to God _jolt_ when their hands touch. Cas doesn’t seem to react beyond smiling a little brighter as they shake hands.

 _God dammit_.

**END**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, meet-cute, pre-relationship
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _monarchmish: Destiel yoga AU. Dean gets really sore from working as a mechanic and Sam signs him up for a yoga class. Dean is grumpy about it until he meets the instructor, a blue eyed man named Cas._

**PROMPT #13**

Dean gets half way through his string of swears before he remembers where he is and bites his tongue to stop. It doesn’t bring an end to the twinging in his back and he rubs at it, subtly stretching to try to work the pain out. Not more than a few seconds go by before Sam is in the doorway of his room, hands on his hips and frown on his lips. Dean pointedly does not look at him.

“What it is today?” Sam sighs and crosses his arms, his frown turning sympathetic. “Is it your shoulders or your back.”

Immediately Dean drops his hand from where he’d been massaging his lower back. Sam, of course, catches the movement. “Ah, back then.”

“It was nothing.” He grumps and stands up, wincing as it pulls his back and he gets another stabbing pain jolting through his hips. “Just stubbed my toe.”

“Stubbed your toe.” Sam’s voice is flat and clearly unimpressed. “Right.” He sighs again, face pinching in annoyance. “Dammit, Dean. Either ask Bobby for a desk job and go see a doctor about the pain, or start taking better care of yourself.”

Dean rolls his eyes and shuffles over to grab the edge of the door, ready to shut it in Sam’s pouty face. “I take care of myself just _fine_ , thank you.”

“You don’t work out, you don’t stretch, and you eat like shit.” He steps forward and leans his shoulder into the door, knowing exactly what Dean plans to do. “I’m serious. You’ve reached the age where you have to take care of yourself or you’re going to be in even more trouble down the road, especially if you continue such a physically demanding job.”

“I’m a _mechanic_ , Sammy.” Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and shoves him back a few feet, just enough to give him the space to start closing the door. “I spend half the day on my back underneath cars or hunched over an open hood. It’s not half as demanding as you think.”

Sam shakes his head and puts a hand against the door to keep it from being closed all the way. “And holding certain positions – like your arms up when you’re under the car or staying hunched over when working on an engine – can affect your muscles a lot. You can really mess yourself up for the future if you don’t take precautions now.”

“I’m going to bed now.” Dean leans into the door, putting his weight into it. “Good _night_ , Sammy.” He manages to get it closed and he flicks off the light because yes, he _is_ planning on going to bed. First he has to rub on some of that cream he got at the pharmacy, and then he’s turning in. The light isn’t needed for that.

“Those muscle creams are just a crutch!” Sam calls through the door. “At the very least, start coming to my yoga classes with me. You’ll be amazed at how much better you’ll feel after just one hour!”

Dean doesn’t answer. He hobbles back to his bed and sits, teeth on edge as another sharp pain pulses in his lower back. His left shoulder aches too and he rolls both shoulders a few times. The tube of cream is sitting on his bedside table and he finds it by touch. The sharp smell of menthol fills the room as he squeezes a bit out into his palm. He warms it in his hands briefly before starting to rub it into his skin over the areas that hurt.

Sam can try and talk him into doing yoga ‘til he’s red in the face, but Dean won’t be caught _dead_ in one of those froufrou hippie classes.

* * *

“This isn’t the movie theater.” Dean leans forward to glare at the sign of the building Sam just parked his dumb Prius in front of. “This is your fuckin’ yoga studio.”

Sam smiles brightly and turns the car off. “That’s _exactly_ what it is.”

He reaches into the backseat to grab his gym bag – which Dean hadn’t noticed when he’d gotten into the car and explains why Sam begged that they take _his_ car today. Here Dean was, thinking it was just because Sam never gets to drive whenever they go anywhere together and decided to let him have his way. See if he’s ever nice enough to let Sam get his way again, especially when it leads to him being _tricked_ into going places he doesn’t want to go.

Dean sits back in his seat and crosses his arms. “I’ll wait here, then.”

“At least come inside and see what it’s like?” Sam undoes his seat-belt and opens his door. “I won’t make you work out with us, but my instructor is fine with letting someone watch as long as they’re a guest of someone else. If you want to participate, I have an extra mat and towel just for you.” He pats his bag and grins. “I even packed you a t-shirt and sweatpants.”

Instead of answering, Dean settles even _further_ into his seat and continues his steady glare out the windshield. Sam waits a few moments to see if he’s going to answer before he sighs and shakes his head. He takes the keys with him when he gets out of the car.

“You know where to find me if you want to at least see what the class is like.”

With those parting words, Sam shuts the door and leaves. Dean makes faces at his back and flips him off as he heads up the sidewalk to the door. He glares at it long after Sam has gone inside. How could he have fallen for a scheme like this? Pathetic! God, he should have known better. It’s not often that Sam wants to go see the same kind of movie that Dean does. They had better still be going to see the movie _after_ this, or he’s going to have some serious words for – Well _hello_ there.

Someone walks past his side of the car and Dean should be ashamed by how his eyes zero in on their ass. He might hate yoga, but yoga _pants_ are a blessing to this world (even if they’re a hideous bright yellow with a black stripe going down the side of the leg). They accentuate that ass _perfectly_ and it’s probably one of the best asses Dean has seen in his life. Even if he wanted to look away, he couldn’t. It’s just _that_ hypnotizing.

The world’s most perfect ass walks itself up onto the sidewalk and down the side of the building until it disappears inside the yoga studio that Sam went into. Dean didn’t even check to see if it was a man or a woman that it belonged to. Either way, he’s unbuckled and out of the car before he even realizes what he’s doing. At least he has the foresight to lock the car before he shuts the door.

He feels like a creeper following after a truly amazing butt, _but_ Sam did say he should at least come in and see what the yoga class is like, right? Maybe the owner of that butt is in Sam’s class and not in one of the others taking place at the same time in a different room. That's a thing that happens at yoga studios, right? If that butt _is_ in the same class as Sam, then _maybe_ Dean will consider signing up. If he hits it off with the butt's owner, well, that’s just a handy dandy coincidence, right?

Appealing to his most base of natures is really the best way to get Dean to do anything. If Sam had told him about that major hottie being in his class, he probably would have signed up the very next day. Granted, Dean doesn’t have any idea of what their personality is like, or even what their face looks like. He can be a little shallow, yah, but he’s not going to put up with a jackass even if they do have the best goddamn ass he’s ever seen – so perky and round and _guh_.

Sam is waiting just inside the door when Dean walks in; the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “So, decided to give it a shot, huh?”

“Pretty sure I didn’t say anything close to that.” He hunches his shoulders and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I just came in to use the washroom.”

“Guess that means you _don’t_ want me to introduce you to my instructor?” Sam wiggles his eyebrows and Dean realizes, with a burn in his cheeks and a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he did _exactly_ what was expected of him.

When Dean doesn’t answer, Sam pulls him out of the doorway and over to a changing room. “You can leave your jacket and shoes in here.”

“I’m not doing yoga, Sammy.”

“That’s a shame.”

To his ever growing embarrassment, Dean actually jumps in surprise when someone speaks from directly behind him. The voice is deep, kinda rough, and sends a shiver down his spine. He turns around to meet bright blue eyes, a five o’clock shadow, and an amused smile. Yellow-pants is standing with an equally yellow yoga mat hanging over his shoulder, head cocked to the side as he looks Dean over.

It’s a brief glance before he meets Dean’s eyes again and his smile falls into a frown. He steps around him to look from behind before gently touching his lower back and shoulder, one hand each. “You experience pain here, correct?”

“How the hell did you know?” Dean turns to face him again, though he frowns at Sam. “You told him, didn’t you?”

“Nope!” Sam grins brightly, hands on his hips like he’s oh so pleased with himself. “The only thing I told him was that you’ve been dealing with some pains recently that I thought yoga could help with, but you were too stubborn to come take a class with me.”

Yellow-pants nods in agreement. “He also insisted that I wear these particular pants for today’s class. I suspect I know why, so I’ll save us all the embarrassment of confirming it.” He shoots Sam a dirty look before holding his hand out to Dean. “My name is Castiel, I actually own the yoga studio and I’m one of the instructors here. You can call me Cas, since everyone else seems to.”

“Dean – this asshole’s older brother.” Dean shakes his hand before shoving both of his back in his pockets. “Seriously, though, how did you know where I’ve been hurting?”

Cas gestures at him, waving a vague hand to encompass the areas. “By how you hold yourself. You’re twisted at the hips to relieve pressure on that side of your body. You’re holding your shoulder stiffly and don’t seem to move it as much. Since it’s your dominant arm, I assume that tends to be a problem.”

“He lives on Ibuprofen and Rub-A535.”

“Shut _up_ , Sammy.” Dean hisses and just barely refrains from punching him in the shoulder. Violence against one of his students probably wouldn’t make a good first impression on Mr. Blue-Eyes-Hot-Ass.

Wisely, Sam holds up both his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just happy we managed to get you through the door. Even if it _is_ just because you thought Cas was hot.”

The look Dean gives him is hopefully murderous enough that Sam knows he’s a dead man the moment they get home. Cas, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care. He ignores the comment as if it was never made and steps closer to Dean. “I sincerely believe that my class could help you with your pain. I am also a licensed masseur and I have a room in the back where I give massages to those students who find it necessary after a class – especially those dealing with pain like you do.”

Those baby blues are wide and earnest, and Dean honestly doesn’t know if it’s because Cas actually wants to help him, or if he just wants to sign up another student so he’s bringing in more bank. Is there some kind of commission for signing new people up? It sounds _mighty_ suspicious – even if it’s coming from a pair of soft lips that are _very_ distracting when they move. Shit. His hotness is definitely a swaying factor here, but it’s going up against Dean’s bullheadedness and that’s a mighty contender.

But that’s when Cas delivers a one-two knockout punch. He touches Dean’s arms gently and smiles again, a bit gummy but soft and it makes his eyes crinkle _just so_. “I insist that you try the class today, free of charge, and have a massage afterwards. If you need your Ibuprofen or Rub-A535 when you go to bed tonight, then you never have to come back again.”

Sam steps in again. “ _And_ I’ll stop harping on you about it.”

“What happens if I _don’t_ feel my usual pains?” He crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow, looking between them. “I sign up for your beginner’s class and schedule massages with you after each for an extra couple bucks?”

“The massages are an optional choice for those who take my class. It does have to be booked in advance, because I only take a handful after each class, but there is no extra fee for it.” Cas’s smile brightens, like he already knows that he’s won. “You can sign up for one class a week to start, and you get a discount for the first six months since you are coming on a referral from Sam.”

Dean _hates_ that he’s actually considering this. He narrows his eyes and looks between the both of them again, weighing the odds. Does he want to get to know Cas enough to let Sam win? His back and shoulder _have_ been bothering him a lot lately, and it’s just a matter of time before it gets bad enough that he might have to go see a chiropractor – which is something he sure as shit can’t afford. Not to mention that it might start interfering with his work, and if that happens Bobby is _sure_ to park his ass in the office. He would rather die than be demoted to an office grunt.

Sam clearly knows him too well, because he leans in and elbows Cas in the side slightly. He drops his voice into a stage whisper, just loud enough for Dean to still be able to hear him. “Throw in dinner and a movie, and I think you’ll have him sold.”

At that, Cas does actually blush and that makes Dean wonder; how much has Sam been up-selling him to his yoga instructor? Has he been playing matchmaker on top of trying to get Dean to deal with his pain problem like a responsible adult? That sneaky son-of-a-bitch!

Cas clears his throat and, for the first time since they met, actually looks away. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck and clears his throat. “If – If you think that would help, I wouldn’t be remiss to – um – to add that to the wager.”

“So if I have this right, no pain means I sign up and get to go on a date with you. Pain means buh-bye, nice meetin’ ya?”

When Sam and Cas both nod, Dean knows he’s been cornered. The little bitch that is his little brother just played him for the fool. He _knows_ that Dean has been complaining lately about being lonely and not meeting anyone good whenever he goes out with his buddies. He _knows_ that Cas is exactly Dean’s type. And he knows that Dean’s libido has a very strong voice when it comes to making decisions. Meaning that even if Dean _does_ feel pain tonight, if he wants a date with Cas bad enough, he’ll still say that he didn’t hurt at all. Which means he’ll sign up for classes and – Goddammit.

“You’re a _dick_ , Sam.”

“I know.” He steps up to Dean this time and leans in to whisper into his ear, even cupping his hands around his mouth to minimize eavesdroppers. This is something he apparently doesn’t want Cas to hear. “For the record, the yoga makes him _very_ bendy.”

Mother _fucker_.

“Fine!” Dean shoves him away. “You win. I’ll try the damn class.”

Cas’s smile lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. He touches Dean’s arm again, though it’s brief. “You’ve made the right choice, Dean. I fully believe this will help you.” And then he must put on his business face, because he steps back and nods to the both of them. “Get changed and I’ll see you in the studio shortly. Class starts in a few minutes, but I’ll wait for the both of you before we get started.”

He turns with a little wave and heads off past the changing rooms and down the hall that leads deeper into the studio. As soon as he’s out of sight, Dean turns on Sam, only he doesn’t get a chance to rip him a new one.

Sam is just _glowing_ with delight. “I knew he’d like you.”

“Oh _shut up_.” Dean shoves his shoulder and stomps into the change room, set on locating a locker to dump his clothes. “You’re going to be paying for our date.”

“If it means the both of you are happy and you’re not hurting anymore, I’ll pay for a _hundred_ dates.”

“Careful, Sammy. I might just hold you to that.”

**END**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Lisa Braeden
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  General, Alternate Universe - modern, Lisa POV, office!AU
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _grangerdanger-xo: Married!Destiel and Office!AU where Dean’s new receptionist doesn’t know he’s married. She thinks he’s flirting with her and is convinced that they’re going to fall in love and get married, only to have her hopes crushed when she meets Cas._
> 
> _The original prompt was several paragraphs long, so I summarized it in the above.  
> _

**PROMPT #14**

When Lisa started at _Winchester Bros Brokerage_ , she was _not_ prepared for her new boss to be so hot. Her original interview had been with Donna from Human Resources and with one of the heads of the company – Sam Winchester. The position was for a personal assistant and, as it turns out, she was supposed to be working under the other owner – Dean Winchester. He happened to be out at meetings that particular day and wasn’t able to sit in for the interview himself.

Sam was pretty cute, but Dean (“ _Mr. Winchester, please. At least in the workplace. I like to keep it professional._ ”) is just – _wow_. He’s tall with a strong jaw, full lips, and just the perfect amount of stubble. Oh, it made Lisa’s poor heart skip a beat when she walked into the office on her first day and he was waiting for her at her desk. To top it off, he had a bouquet of flowers set out as a welcoming gift and she _swears_ he lingered when they shook hands as he said he was looking forward to working with her.

Lisa is basically in charge of managing Dean’s schedule, running office and personal errands for him (like picking up his dry cleaning or his lunch if he orders in), editing his reports and sometimes his emails, doing data entry, and keeping inventory of office supplies for their department. There are a number of other things that she supposedly has to do, but she didn’t run into them in her first five days.

They manage the import and export of vehicles – both personal and transport – over the border to Canada. Dean is in charge of the sales department and spends a lot of time playing nice with clients and trying to bring in more. As far as Lisa knows, Sam’s department is small but runs the more the technical side of things. They work on the system and keeping everything in the office running smoothly. Sam also apparently oversees Human Resources to some degree.

It’s not a _huge_ business, but it’s growing. Everyone has been so nice and Lisa has really enjoyed her first week. Particularly, she enjoys working with Dean. It’s only been a week and she is in full on crush mode. Dean is probably the nicest boss she’s ever had. Is it normal for a boss to take their new employee to lunch at the end of their first week? If it is, it’s never happened to her before.

Dean spent the lunch ask how she liked the job and if she had any questions. When she didn’t and said she was confident that she had a firm grasp on how things are run, he was impressed. He even called her _smart_. Not many men compliment Lisa for her brain. She knows she’s pretty, but she’s humble enough to not like that to be focused on when talking with anyone.

To make matters worse, after they were done talking about work, Dean started asking her about her personal life. In previous jobs, Lisa found it uncomfortable when her employer asked her what her hobbies were, or if she had pets, or what her plans for the weekend were. With Dean it was different. It honestly felt like he was just trying to get to know her better, and she spent the second half of their lunch together trying _very hard_ not to blush and titter like a schoolgirl. She’s a grown ass woman and that would just be downright embarrassing.

After a weekend of not seeing him, Lisa walks into work on Monday fairly sure that she was just imagining anything she might have _accidentally_ considered flirting last week. She’s been at her desk for all of five minutes when Dean walks in. Her desk is stationed just outside his office, but it’s also a little separated from the open space and cubicles that make up their department. They’re divided from everyone else by a seating area on one side and a few copies and printers on the other.

That said, when Dean puts a coffee on her desk with a handful of individual cream and sugar packets, Lisa has no idea if he also brought coffee for anyone else. She looks up in surprise and he smiles brightly. “Morning, Lisa! Did you get a haircut over the weekend?”

It was just a trim and updating her highlights. It’s hardly a noticeable change, especially for someone who has only known her a week, and Lisa is stunned that he even picked up on it. “I – Yes! I had it done yesterday after yoga.”

“It looks nice.” Dean grins and nods at the coffee. “Don’t expect this all the time. I’m just in a good mood this morning.” He winks and heads for his office, gesturing for her to come along.

Lisa grabs her notebook and follows after. She’s ashamed to admit that she ends up staring as he hangs his suit jacket up on the stand next to the door, his dress shirt pulling across his shoulders. He wears _suspenders_ and despite those being incredibly out of style, it somehow still looks good on him.

She blinks out of her stupor when he turns to her, eyebrow raised expectantly. Lisa looks down at the tablet and thumbs through to his schedule. “On the docket today is a meeting this morning with _Bison Transport_ about renegotiating their contract, lunch with a Mr. Novak at _Daisy’s Diner_ , and you need to do the monthly employee reviews this afternoon.”

Dean gives her two thumbs up before dropping into the chair behind his desk. “Awesome. Send in the Bison Boys when they get here and prep the employee files for me.” He pauses while getting his laptop from his bag. “I know we showed you where they were last week, but as soon as I get set up out here I’ll come show you how I like them prepped.”

“Yes, Mr. Winchester.” Lisa scribbles that down on her _To Do_ list and uses the highlighter on the end of her pen to mark it as priority.

They don’t do _a lot_ by file, but there is one filing cabinet behind her desk strictly used to keep the hard copies of employee files. Part of her job is also maintain the digital copies of all those files, so she knows that later today she’ll be scanning and sorting the reviews into the proper folders.

She gets one step out the door when Dean calls her name again. Lisa leans back around the door frame and Dean smiles at her. “Enjoy your coffee first. Don’t let it get cold.”

“Of course.”

*

At the end of the day, Lisa packs up her purse and pulls her coat on. She’s cinching the belt when Dean comes out of his office, laptop bag in hand and suit jacket on again. He flashes her a smile and offers his arm. “May I walk you to your car, Miss?”

Lisa _definitely_ feels a blush at that, but who is she to refuse? She gingerly tuck her hand in the crook of his elbow, hesitant to put her arm through his, and walks with him past the cubicles. Most of the other employees are still either busy or getting ready to go themselves. Dean says goodbye to each of them, which is just confusing to Lisa. Is he just being nice to her because he’s nice to everyone, or is this _arm thing_ and the walk to her car flirting?

Lines are being crossed and she’s not sure if she should report it to Human Resources or not. For one, she _just_ started working here. For two, she’s not uncomfortable with the attention. The exact opposite, actually. Lisa almost _welcomes_ it. The only thing that confuses her about the matter is if he’s flirting or is really just incredibly nice.

Dean does indeed walk her to her car. He tilts his head and regards it with a critical eye. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a colour like that before.”

Her little Ford Focus wasn’t very impressive, but Lisa did love the mint green colour. She’s never been a car person, but she loved this one the moment she saw the colour. “It does stand out a bit, doesn’t it?”

“All the better. That’s my baby over there.” He nods across the parking lot to the only two reserved spots. In one of them is a big black car with chrome finishes. It looks older, but not being a car person, Lisa has no idea what it is. Dean must notice because he laughs and pats her on the shoulder. “That’s a 1967 Chevy Impala. Belonged to my dad, and I’ve been maintaining it myself for _years_. If you ever have car troubles, come to _me_ first. I’ll save you hundreds.”

“Duly noted, Mr. Winchester.” She flashes him a smile and tucks her hair behind her ear. So he’s a handy man too, huh? It’s incredibly unprofessional to crush on her _boss_ , but the more that Lisa learns about Dean, the more she likes him.

With a laugh, Dean lifts his hand from her shoulder. He steps away and turns it into a save. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning!”

“Don’t forget to bring your dry cleaning!”

He turns and walks backwards for a moment while giving her a salute. His laugh echoes across the lot when he turns around again. Lisa lingers a little too long to watch him walk across the lot, taking in the length of his stride and how he’s a little bow-legged. It’s kinda cute and she bites her lip before getting in her car. Whoever had this job before her was an idiot for leaving it. Who wouldn’t love working for someone as nice as Dean?

* * *

 

Week number three is a little less amazing. By the end of Friday, Lisa is _exhausted_. The contract renegotiation with _Bison Transport_ went well, but some new hire (not her) screwed up _every single form_ for the last week that were entered and sent off the border control for vehicles being transported into Canada. It lead to a back-up that Dean had to deal with personally, which meant that both he and Lisa were frantically filling out and sending each form _again_. The forms consist of hundreds of little boxes, but only certain ones need to be filled out and it’s not that hard to do if you’re actually paying attention.

Needless to say, Lisa is _ready_ for the weekend. She’s got a girls night planned tomorrow with her group of friends. They’re each bringing a bottle of wine and they plan to make it through it all while gossiping, watching horror movies, playing a few board games, and turning Lisa’s living room into a giant bed so everyone can sleep over. They only have a night like this once or twice a year and she is _so_ looking forward to telling everyone about Dean.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Dean steps out of his office with his tie half undone and askew, and his suspenders hanging from his hips. He has his suit jacket and bag slung over his shoulder and he looks about exactly as Lisa feels – like he’s about to go home, take his weight in tequila shots, and sleep for a thousand years. They share a tired smile and walk to the parking lot side by side.

Dean slings an arm around her shoulders when they get outside. It’s a brief squeeze of a half-hug, but it has Lisa’s heart doubling in speed. “You’re a lifesaver, y’know that?” He sighs and takes his hand back, though Lisa is keenly aware of how his hand drags across her shoulders instead of just dropping away. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone type as fast as you. It would have taken me ten times as long to get that all sorted out.”

Lisa blushes and ducks her head. “I’m glad I was able to help.”

“You were _more_ than a help today, Lisa.” He gives her another winning smile and she melts a little on the inside. “Coffee is on _me_ next Monday.”

“If you insist, Mr. Winchester.”

“We’re not in the office right now, Lisa.” Dean shakes his head and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Out of the office, I’m just Dean.”

That shouldn’t make her heart flutter, but it does. Lisa laughs and resist the urge to touch his arm. They’re still on office property and she wouldn’t want anyone to think otherwise. In her time here, she’s noticed Dean be somewhat tactile with everyone – pats on the shoulder and the like. She might not be as special as she originally thought, but he’s still _too_ nice for it to be anything but just being friendly.

Even still, that sparkling smile can’t just mean _nothing_ , can it?

* * *

 

Lisa waits until they’re in the middle of _Cloverfield_ when she pauses the movie. Six sets of annoyed eyes turn on her and the only answer she has is; “I’m crushing hard on my boss and I think he likes me too.”

All thought of the movie goes out of their heads. Mandy tops up everyone’s wine glasses and they gather around Lisa in a semi-circle for her to explain the situation. Lisa recounts every instance where Dean has been nice to her – the coffees he’s bought, the times he’s walked her to her car, how _nice_ he’s been, every smile, and every friendly touch. She also tries stressing that she’s seen him give similar _friendly_ touches to her coworkers.

Once her story is done, _that’s_ when the girls start talking. Some of them talk over the others, but it all boils down to everyone being convinced that Dean likes Lisa too. More than that, they’re all convinced that he’s going to ask her out any day now. Some of them even start calling her _Mrs. Winchester_. Lisa has her doubts, but if they seem so sure of it, then who is she to judge?

Some day in the near future, she’s going to regret ever thinking that listening to her best friends – her _very drunk_ best friends – was a good idea.

* * *

 

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” Lisa stands up when Dean walks in. As promised, he has a coffee for her in hand. By now he’s learned he favourite order and saved her from amassing cream and sugar in her desk drawer. “You have three phone calls to make this morning to follow up on last week’s kerfuffle. I’ve got the names and numbers on a sticky note on your desk already.”

She follows him into his office while continue to read out his schedule. “It’s Charlie’s birthday today and as a reminder I’m going to be going to pick the cake up before lunch, we ordered it last week so it’s already been paid for. I’ll finish editing your reports today and will start on the data entry that was backed up from last week.”

“You’re a gem, Lisa.” Dean sinks into his chair with a sigh. “I’m still drained from last week. I even went to the cabin with Cas and Sam, basically spent the whole weekend in the hot tub, and _still_ don’t feel like I relaxed enough.” With a groan, he sits forward and starts setting up his laptop. “I sent you some spreadsheets last night. Can you print them and pass them out to everyone? I need them to double check their numbers before I can get started on the quarterly report.”

“I’ll do it right away.” Lisa nods and back peddles out of his office before any of her thoughts have the chance to show on her face.

With careful, controlled motions, she sits down at her desk and stares at her computer screen. She can see the icon in her taskbar showing her that she has unread emails, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. There’s an ache in her chest and Lisa frowns, she has _never_ liked feeling jealous and she stamps down on the feeling. It isn’t any of her business to ask who this _Cas_ is, no matter how badly she wants to. For all she knows, maybe Cas is Sam’s wife and she goes where he goes?

The traitorous voice in the back of her mind, one that sounds a lot like her friend Vicky, whispers; _But what if she was there for **Dean**?_

There’s a reason Vicky is Lisa’s least favourite best friend. She loves her to death and was a bridesmaid at her wedding, but Vicky has always had the tendency to call her out on her bullshit or state the things that she doesn’t want to hear. Granted, Vicky’s bluntness was what really helped Lisa realize that her last relationship wasn’t going anywhere. And she also didn’t point out anything bad when they were all talking on Saturday. Though that could have been because of all the wine…

In either case, Lisa is going to have to do some subtle research to find out who this _Cas_ is. Either that, or she needs to ramp up the flirting and make her interest in Dean more obvious. That will have to be done _outside_ of the office. Lisa prides herself on being a professional and she absolutely _won’t_ make a move on him while they’re working.

Maybe she should ask him out to lunch sometime this week? If she plans it well, asks the right questions, plays her cards right, then maybe she’ll use that lunch to tell Dean about her feelings. At the very least, she wants to set things straight between them. It’s still entirely possible that she’s the only one putting more emphasis on their interactions.

Whether she means to or not, Lisa starts mentally plotting how the scene will unfold. She opens her emails and starts on her tasks for the day, but in the background she’s scripting everything she’s going to say to Dean. Lisa makes a particular note to point out the things that Dean does that make her believe he might be interested too.

With any luck, her lunch date (once she makes it) might end with plans for a dinner date. That would be nice, and Lisa will keep her fingers crossed for it, but she won’t hold out _too_ much hope.

* * *

 

It’s just before lunch – just before she plans to ask Dean to go to lunch with her – when a quiet commotion catches Lisa’s attention. She pauses in her data-entry, placing an arrow sticky-note to point at the field on the sheet she had been entering from. Just in case, she also clicks save in the program. The entry can be edited after, but it would suck to have to do it all over again.

With her hands firmly planted on the desk, Lisa leans across it to see around the copy and print machines, wondering why it’s suddenly louder than usual in the office. Half of the people in the cubicle section beyond the seating area are standing up. They’re all talking to or shaking hands with a man that Lisa has never seen before. Clearly everyone else has met him, given how much they’re smiling at him.

The man in question is certainly attractive; fit, tall with messy dark hair, and cheeks shadowed with stubble. He’s wearing slacks and an honest to goodness _sweater vest_ , though that’s not nearly as odd as the _trench coat_. Lisa can’t remember the last time she saw one. It looks ill-fitting too, but no one seems to mind. And no one is questioning the paper bag that he has in his hand. While Lisa always tries to believe the best in people, she is just a _tad_ suspicious. It’s must be the combination of the trench coat and paper bag.

She sits back down and tries not to act like she was watching when the man continues through the office towards her. Dean’s door is shut since he’s still dealing with the calls from earlier. Lisa wonders if she should pop him a quick note in the company’s internal instant messaging service to let him know. He would be able to see it without her actually interrupting his call. She decides against it when the man approaches her desk.

“Hello, Lisa.” His smile is small but it’s incredibly kind, and his voice is vaguely familiar – though she can’t place it. He holds his hand out and she stands to shake it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Castiel Novak.” He glances towards Dean’s office, raising an eyebrow like he’s surprised to find the door closed. “I’m just here to speak with Dean briefly.”

“He’s actually on an important call at the moment, but I’ll let him know he has a visitor as soon as he’s done.” She gestures at the small seating area against the opposite wall. “You’re welcome to wait in the meantime. Can I get you a drink while you wait?”

Mr. Novak raises an eyebrow at her and tilts his head to the side slightly. Lisa can’t tell for certain, but she thinks that’s almost _amusement_ on his face. “A water would be great, thank you.”

While he takes a seat on one of the couches, the paper bag in his lap, Lisa gets a paper cup of water for him from the water cooler. She hands it to him with a smile. “I just thought I would let you know that Mr. Winchester prefers not to be called by his first name in the workplace. He likes to keep it professional, so you probably shouldn’t call him Dean.”

The look she gets this time is less amused and more confused. He simply nods and busies himself with his drink. Lisa returns to her desk, but before she can pull up the instant messaging program to let Dean know that he has a Mr. Novak waiting for him, her phone rings. The call immediately distracts her as she opens her call log to record the time and name of the caller before dealing with the actual reason why they’re calling.

She just finished the call by mere moments when the light of Dean’s line on her phone turns off too. A few seconds later, and his door is opening and he’s coming out with a pad of paper in hand. “I’m done with those calls. I need you to type up these notes I took to add to their company files, and arrange a Skype meeting with _Canada Cartage_ about –”

Dean stops dead in the middle of speaking, clearly having spotted Mr. Novak from the corner of his eye. He passes Lisa the pad of paper and turns to face the waiting room. “What are you doing out here?”

Mr. Novak stands up and approaches. “Hello, Mr. Winchester.” He pauses at the edge of Lisa’s desk and glances at her. “Is his schedule free for me to speak with him now?”

Before Lisa can answer, Dean laughs. To her surprise – her jaw actually _drops_ before she composes herself a heartbeat later – he leans in and kisses Mr. Novak full on the mouth right there in front of her. He shakes his head and takes on this _softness_ that Lisa has never seen. “What are you doing out here, Cas? You know you’re allowed to walk in any time.”

Oh God. Cas from the weekend isn’t a _woman_.

“I think you failed to inform your new assistant of my special privileges.” Cas shakes his head and holds out the paper bag. “I only popped in to swap lunches with you. It seems I took _yours_ this morning instead of mine.”

Dean takes the bag and peeks into it. “I didn’t even look in the one I took! Thanks for bringing this, sweetheart. You had those stuffed mushrooms for lunch, right? I hate those.” He kisses Cas _again_ and takes his hand. “C’mon, I’ve got your lunch in my office. Do you have the time to eat here before you have to get back to the university?”

Cas checks his watch before nodding. “I have the time. My next class doesn’t start for another hour and a half and Jack will start it for me if I’m not there in time.”

“Great!” Dean grabs his hand and starts pulling him towards his office. He stops at the door and turns back. “I totally dropped the ball and didn’t tell you, but my husband never has to wait out here. He’s got a free pass to come into my office whenever he’s here – unless I’ve actually got someone else in there for a meeting.”

“Duly noted, Mr. Winchester.”

“It was nice meeting you, Lisa.” Cas waves over his shoulder before he’s pulled fully into the office; the door closing behind him – but not before Lisa hears one last comment from Dean, one that likely wasn’t meant for her to hear. “Isn’t she the greatest? I love having an assistant who doesn’t try to flirt with me all the other time. Not like the last one! And she’s such a hard worker!”

Despite her workload, and that her own lunch break is quickly approaching, Lisa remains at her desk. She stares blankly at her computer screen, trying to process what just happened. Did Dean ever wear a ring? She can’t recall ever paying attention enough to his left hand to tell, and if she _did_ see a ring, would she have assumed he was married? Some guys still wear rings on that hand, if only because that’s the finger the ring fit on. She’s done that sometimes too.

Now that she knows Dean is gay – or at the very least, bisexual – she has a whole new perspective on every single one of their interactions. Lisa sits back in her chair and analyzes everything from the moment she started her job until now and it really all has been in her head, hasn’t it? She was distracted by how attractive and he is and never once considered that he was married _or_ gay. But now there are things – just little things – that make _so much sense_ now that she thinks back on them.

Well, isn’t that just a kick in the teeth? With a sigh, she digs her phone out of her purse and sends a quick message to the group chat. **_Mrs. Winchester isn’t going to happen, girls. He’s already got himself a HUSBAND!_**

Good thing she hadn’t invested any more time or energy into pursuing him – _or_ made a fool of herself by asking him out. That might have cost Lisa her _job_ , if Dean’s last comment to his husband (his _husband_ ) was any indication. She should probably look into _why_ his last assistant isn’t around anymore, though she has a feeling she might know why.

Maybe she should send Cas a thank you note for saving her the embarrassment?

**END**


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for searing), Alternate Universe - modern, Dean POV
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _anon: Cas likes to collect coins and is routinely haggling with Dean during his night shift at the gas station for coins in his till, to the point where Dean starts setting them aside for the nightly slushy run. Cas has Dean’s schedule memorized because he only comes in on his shift since Dean is the only one who will indulge him with his trades. A co-worker even asks him why he has a pile of coins sorted out from the rest of his till._

**PROMPT #15**

“Have you done a drop yet?” Charlie hip-checks Dean in the ass on her way past him, causing him to draw a crooked line up across his notebook. He frowns at it and looks up to see her use her key to open the cash drawer attached to his till.

With a sigh, Dean places his pencil down on his textbook to point to where he was working on taking notes. “Nah, I haven’t done enough cash sales to warrant one.” He stops hunching over the counter and straightens up in a stretch. “I’ve probably got maybe an extra forty bucks to the float, and you know I don’t do a drop unless I’ve got over a hundred in there.”

Charlie rolls her eyes at him, but still thumbs through the bills just to make sure he’s not bullshitting her. For how long they’ve worked the here together, you’d think she’d trust him now. But they’ve got an inspection by the owner in the morning and that’s the only reason she scheduled herself on shift now; to make sure that everything is fucking _perfect_. Normally it’s just one person on staff overnight to run the till and do all the cleaning.

That said, of course Charlie stops and squints at one of the unused coin slots in his till. She looks up at him and points to it. “What the heck is this?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Too late.” She crosses her arms and goes right into her _stare of doom_. “You have a bunch of coins mixed in together. What if the owner sees that?”

Dean shrugs and reaches over to close the till. “He won’t.”

“And why _not_?”

He checks his watch and glances at the clock on the till too, just to double check. “Because Coin Guy is going to be here in half an hour.”

Charlie opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. She presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head. “Never mind. Just make sure it’s not like that by the end of your shift.”

“Aye aye, cap-i-tan!” Dean salutes and steps out of the way so she can get out from behind the counter and continue her white-gloved inspection of the entire damn gas station.

Thank _God_ that he already finished his standard checklist of stuff that he needs to do on his shift. Inventory has been completed and he’s got the order list set aside for the day shift to place in the morning. He’s restocked what shelves and fridge space that he can with what they have, on top of also changing out any empty (or nearly empty) syrup bags for the slush machine. Dean swept, mopped, dusted _and_ squeegee’d every window they’ve got – inside _and_ out. And he did all of that on top of also manning the register for all those night owls who stopped by to fill up, get a snack, or pick up some lotto scratchers or cigarettes.

Dean has gotten so efficient at his cleaning routine that he can usually get it wrapped up in the first two hours of his shift when he starts at eleven o’clock at night. It takes even less time if he lucks out and doesn’t have many customers during that time period. If he can get it all done early, it leaves him more time to study and do his homework. His engineering classes aren’t _that_ hard, but they hold the very real potential of kicking his ass if he doesn’t keep on top of everything.

Coin Guy is probably the highlight of his shift. He only gets to see him every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, since he’s just a part timer and does the eleven o’clock to seven o’clock overnight shift. Coin Guy comes in around three o’clock every morning to get a single flavour slushy, a copy of _yesterday’s_ newspaper, an _Almond Joy_ chocolate bar, and to trade coins. He doesn’t speak much, but he always lights up whenever Dean says he saved some neat ones for him.

This will be the first time that Charlie is here for it, and he _really_ hopes that she doesn’t interrupt them. Or, worse yet, tell Coin Guy that Dean’s not allowed to trade coins with him anymore. It’s not like the till is out any change afterwards. Coin Guy is a collector and he always carries around a ton of spare coins so he can make exchanges. Apparently Dean isn’t his only source that he has around town, but it still makes his day to see him so excited for an interesting design, or a really old date.

When it’s five minutes to three, Dean bookmarks his textbook and moves everything aside. He pops the till open with his key and moves all the special coins out onto the counter, spreading them out so Coin Guy will be able to see them easily. It’s a bit presumptuous of him, but Dean also starts punching in what he knows Coin Guy always buys – at least the stuff that he doesn’t need to scan first.

A few minutes later, a near mint-condition 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V pulls into the parking spot directly in line with the window that lines the side of Dean’s section. It’s a pimpmobile if ever he saw one, but it’s well maintained and the colour kind matches the ill-fitting trench coat that Coin Guy always wears.

He grins and waves as Coin Guy gets out over the car. A little shiver runs down his spine when the wave is returned. Dean flips the switch under the counter to unlock the doors so Coin Guy can get in, and he locks it right back up again as soon as it closes behind him.

“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” He leans his elbows on the counter and watches as Coin Guy crosses the small store to the slushy machine. “Gonna go for the lime or the grape tonight?”

“Lime.” Coin Guy fills up a medium cup and, as always, picks a straw that matches the colour of his drink. It’s kinda cute how he always does that.

Dean has a ton of theories about Coin Guy that he’s never shared with anyone. For instance, he never looks tired at this time of night, so either he just woke up and is having a super unhealthy breakfast, or he’s part vampire and this is just a nightly snack run for him. Next he goes for the newspaper and folds that under his arm. Next he makes a show of perusing the chocolate bars, but he always picks the _Almond Joy_ every single time.

Dean holds his hand out for the chocolate bar. “Let me put that through while you take a look at what I’ve got for you tonight.”

Coin Guy’s eyes light up and he puts his slushy and newspaper aside to lean over the lines of coins. A flash of red on the other side of the store signals Charlie’s return from organizing the back room. She has a broom in hand and a determined look on her face. She’s also going straight for the doors. Dear God, is she really planning on sweeping the entire parking lot and the gas stalls?

“Open up.” Charlie knocks on the door and Dean flicks the switch to let her out. She pauses just long enough to check Coin Guy out with another squint. Her eyes say it all, especially when she quirks an eyebrow; _That him?_

He nods as he scans the chocolate bar. She shrugs and heads outside without another word. The next to speak is Coin Guy, actually. He lifts his head and glances out the window. “Who was that?”

“My manager.” Dean leans his elbows on the counter again and pokes at some of the coins. “We’ve got an inspection in the morning and she’s pretty anal about making sure shit is all in order for it.”

“Does she have a problem with us trading coins?” He looks back, eyebrows drawn into a worried frown and his dry lips tilted down in the corners. Dean tries really hard not to stare at them.

To keep from being a weirdo, he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the coins on the counter. “Nah. She doesn’t care what I do with them as long as my till balances out in the morning.”

“Your co-workers don’t seem to share that sentiment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean looks up to find Coin Guy frowning down at the counter.

He shifts on his feet and shrugs. “You’re the only one here who trades with me.” As if to prove his point, he pulls out a Ziploc bag from his pocket, full of loose coins and plastic-snap rolls to keep the ones he trades sorted apart from the rest. “I only come in when you’re working because I know you’ll let me take a look and trade for them.”

If Dean didn’t like feeling special, he’d have a word with the others about being nicer to Coin Guy. Too bad he’s so goddamn selfish. “Guess that means you have my schedule memorized, huh?”

An honest to goodness _blush_ turns Coin Guy’s stubbled cheeks a fetching shade of pink. He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “Ah – I guess so?”

This is his chance! Dean rests his elbows on the counter and props his chin up in his palms. “All that and I _still_ don’t know your name. I bet if I covered my name tag, you’d still know my name, wouldn’t you?” Coin Guy totally seems like the kind of person to pointedly use the name of his waiter when they introduce themselves while serving him.

The pink steadily grows to red and Coin Guy nods. “Dean.”

Oh, that sends butterflies fluttering up a storm in his stomach and Dean grins. “What a coincidence! That’s my name too!”

Coin Guy rolls his eyes. “No, _you’re_ Dean. I’m Castiel.” At that, he holds his hand out over the counter.

“Nice to officially meet you, Cas.” Dean shakes his hand with a laugh. He leans down to prop himself up on his elbows again. “So, did you see anything interesting this time?”

Cas’s smile is like a ray of sunshine in the middle of the night. He immediately leans over and starts talking animatedly about a couple of the coins that have special designs on them and how _silly_ people are to use them as regular tender. There are some older coins with dates that are twice Dean’s age that he snaps up too, excitedly explaining what history was like when these were printed and the methods or materials that went into them.

Dean hasn’t heard him talk this much, probably because he’s never actually _asked_ about the coins before. But these are baby steps. Tonight he got a name with the bonus of getting to learn a bit more about Cas’s passion for coins. Next time, maybe he’ll be able to get his age and why he drives a Lincoln Continental of all things. And the time after that, maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to work up the courage to ask this adorable nerd out for a morning coffee after his shift is over.

**END**


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury, Ash
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, Dean POV, meet-cute (sorta)
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _monarchmish: Destiel rival gamer AU. Dean is a professional online gamer who would be #1 if it wasn’t for user “ThursdaysAngel” being a thorn in his side. He decides to take a break from gaming to go on a blind date with a guy named Cas. He ends up liking his date, until Cas mentions his gamertag._

**PROMPT #16**

Dean remains crouched behind the half-wall; his heart in his throat. He knows, without a doubt, that the enemy is quickly approaching his position. It’s just a matter of time before he’ll be surrounded by the enemy and it’s not looking good for his team. But Dean has an ace up his sleeve! Every member of his team (or at least the ones that are still alive) has C4 planted in the area. All it takes is one push of a button and _boom_ , no more enemy! All Dean has to do is give the command to his team when it’s time.

Except the enemy attacked their camp a lot sooner than expected and he didn’t have the chance to get somewhere with a better view of the area. The only way he’s going to know when the best time to blow the enemy sky high is if he took a peek, and that could risk giving away his position. But it’s a risk he’s going to have to take, otherwise the enemy might surround him and he’ll be done for if they find him crouching back here.

He holds his breath and carefully pokes his head up, just enough to see over the crumbling edge of the wall. His field of vision isn’t as wide as he would like, and that turns out to be his undoing. Dean doesn’t even hear the shot. The bullet gets him right between the eyes and he drops like a sack of bricks.

“Son of a _bitch_.” He swears and tosses his controller on the desk, glaring at the center screen of his set up. Dean leans forward, scanning the chat transcript of the game, moving rapidly with people messaging their team or the enemy, as well as details of things going on. Specifically he’s looking for the name of _who_ sniped him. “Of fucking _course_ it’s _you_.”

 _ThursdaysAngel [blue] killed IMPALA67 [red] with a Paladin HB50_.

And of course that’s followed up with a series of _RIP_ from his teammates. But it’s the one message in blue beneath it that just _pisses_ him off all the more.

_ThursdaysAngel [blue]: gg_

Every. Single. Time.

With a loud groan, Dean rocks back in his chair and pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. Is he ever going to be free of that goddamn _douchenozzle_? **Freedom Raid** is _Dean’s game_ and the death count is seriously tarnishing his reputation. The very basis of his entire career started with this game and he’s dominated at it for _years_ – until this fucking _ThursdaysAngel_ came out of nowhere a few months ago. It’s like the fucker has a hard on for blowing Dean’s digital brains out. If they’re in the same match, at least seven times out of ten he gets shot in the head by this fuckwit.

To make matters worse – and sting his pride all the more – he’s never even seen the jackass. That goes for in real life _and_ in game. No matter how many matches they do, Dean has never seen his player ID on screen. _ThursdaysAngel_ is a sniping god. That’s not to say that blue team wins every time, but even when Dean’s team gets into the enemy territory, someone else always takes the fucker down.

Just once – _just once_ – he wants to shoot that fucker in the face. In game, of course. Dean isn’t near crazy enough to blur the lines between reality and gaming. What happens in game doesn’t carry over to real life. If he ever met _ThursdaysAngel_ in person, he might actually shake their hand and commend them on their skills. Even if he kinda suspects that they’re using an aimbot or something. No one can be _that good_ at sniping in a freaking _video game_.

And that’s coming from Dean who came in _first_ when he entered his one and only nationwide tournament before he branched out from this game to others and expanded his YouTube channel. He could have gone pro, but he wasn’t willing to dedicate that much time to a single game plus travel all over the place for various tournaments. Once was enough for him, and as much as he loves this game, he’s not dedicated to being exclusive to just one. There are a bunch that he likes playing and that his subscribers like watching him play.

Maybe it’s a good thing that he didn’t go tournament pro. His ego wouldn’t be able to take it if _ThursdaysAngel_ was also in the gaming league and this upstart new comer just came in and wiped him out like this on a national level. Honestly, Dean doesn’t even know if the guy has a YouTube channel or not. He’s never bothered to check. It feels a little too… obsessive of him if he purposely hunted down more information about them.

“ _Big bada boom_!”

Dean stops wallowing in his mild rage and tunes back into the game, his perspective having automatically switched to watching from the point of view of one of his teammates. The second in command activated the C4 barrier and there are explosions happening all across the screen. Since he’s dead, he can’t chat with the team anymore – at least not with the in-game chat function. But Dean and his team are using Discord and he unmutes himself.

“Good job, Charlie!”

“ _You fuckin’ know it_.” She cackles in his ear and he tabs over to her perspective.

Of course Charlie managed to find herself the one tank on the map and she’s just steamrolling right through the enemy’s defenses. More than half the blue team was decimated by the C4 and now they just have to weed out the ones left in the camp. _ThursdaysAngel_ is somewhere in there and Dean hopes that Charlie gets him with a tank round or something equally awesome.

No such luck, unfortunately. The chat is filling up with kill logs, RIPs, and GGs. It’s hard to keep track of it all _and_ watch Charlie’s point of view for the possibility that _ThursdaysAngel_ might be in front of her. His hopes fall flat when Ash cheers in Discord.

“ _I’ve avenged you oh great fallen leader!_ ”

Dean pulls up the chat log and scrolls through it until he confirms that _PartyInTheBack [red] killed ThursdaysAngel [blue] with a RK 7 Garrison._ Right beneath that, _ThursdaysAngel_ gives another ‘ _good game_ ’. Well, whatever. The sniper was taken out with a _pistol_ and Dean feels all kinds of smug about that, even if he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.

“Good job, Ash. Thanks for defending my honour.”

“ _Anytime, mi capitan_!”

His laugh gets interrupted by an alarm popping up in the corner of Dean’s screen. It’s the fifteen minute warning for when he needs to end this recording and move on to the next thing in his schedule. Which, actually, is nothing. Dean has the rest of the day booked off.

“Well, guys, I think I’m going to take off early.” He moves the mouse off to the monitor on the right of his main display so he can silence both the alarm and all future alarms. “I’ve got a hot date tonight and I’ve gotta go get ready for it.”

His team answers him with a number of wolf whistles. Charlie shushes them all and speaks over most of them. “ _It’s not that prick from Grindr, is it? I don’t care how nice his dick looked, Dean. He opened the chat with a **dick pic** and that is in no way a good start to any relationship_.”

“Fuck no, of course not.” Dean wrinkles his nose at being reminded of that one pushy guy he ended up having to block because he wouldn’t stop sending Dean pictures of his cock. And it wasn’t even a nice looking one either. “This is some guy Sammy knows from the gym. Said he’s _just my type_ and that we have a lot in common. Not sure what that is, but I’m gonna find out tonight.”

“ _Is he hot_?” Ash comes in out of left field with the important question, and there’s a tittering of agreement from the rest of the team.

Dean rolls his eyes as he goes through the process of ending his recording and closing out of all his programs. “Looks aren’t everything, you guys.” He can be as shallow as the next guy, sure, but personality is a _big_ plus in his books.

“ _That means yes, he is._ ” Charlie’s laugh sets off the rest of them.

He waits until they’ve all quieted down before he clears his throat. “For the record, I haven’t seen a picture. I’m going in blind on this thing. Anyways, if he turns out to be an asshole, there’s not going to be a second date.”

“ _Will that be before or after you sleep with him_?” Ash muses quietly and Dean briefly considers booting him from the Discord chat for that.

“I’m not discussing this with you jerks.”

Charlie starts cackling again. “ _That means **after**_!”

“I’m hanging up now!” And before they can say anything else, he signs out.

With a stretch, he pushes his microphone away on its swivel arm and stands up. Dean hangs his headphones on the custom rack he built himself because his skills aren’t just gamer based. Since he’s done early, he can get a bit of a work out in before taking a shower and going to meet his date. It’s not that he’s trying to get _swol_ or anything to impress the guy. Dean tries to work out a little bit every day to keep in shape since he basically has a desk job – unless he’s using the VR.

On his way to his work out room, Dean opens his text conversation with Sam. He scrolls up to the message that tells him the guy’s name – Castiel. Dean knows for sure that he’s not going to pronounce it right, so he’s just been referring to the guy as _Cas_ until he hears a proper pronunciation tonight. Either way, he’s been promised that Cas is cute, fit, and Sam has been talking him up for _weeks_ trying to convince Dean to accept going on a blind date with him. And he has no fucking clue why Sam wouldn’t just take a picture of him so he knows _who_ to look for when he gets to the restaurant tonight.

Oh well. A date’s a date. At the very least he’s going to get good food out of this.

* * *

 

“Hello, Dean.”

He looks up from his phone sharply and nearly swallows his tongue. Sam said the guy would be cute, not _drop dead gorgeous_. His long tan overcoat is a little weird, but Cas is a tall drink of delicious water – stylishly messy hair, blue eyes, the perfect five o’clock shadow, plush lips and wow. Just _wow_.

It takes way too long for Dean to realize that he hasn’t said anything in response. What clues him in is when Cas’s eyebrows draw together in a little frown and he tilts his head to the side slightly. “I’m sorry, do I have the wrong person?” He glances around the lobby of the restaurant, but Dean is the only person waiting alone. “Are you not Dean Winchester?”

“Yes, I’m – Sorry!” He fumbles to put his phone away while also standing up so he can shake his hand. “I’m Dean Winchester, yes! Sorry, you just caught me by surprise.” Considering they’re both more than ten minutes early, yeah. His plan had been to get seated first so they could bring Cas to the table. They do have a reservation under Winchester anyway.

Cas’s smile smoothes out the wrinkles between his eyebrows, and God if it isn’t downright amazing. “Oh, good! I thought for a moment that I might have just found your doppelganger.” He shakes Dean’s hand with a firm grip. “Sam showed me your picture when I refused a _blind_ date.”

“Well, you stuck to your guns better than I did.” Dean grins and gestures at his pocket where he put his phone. “Sam said he couldn’t get a picture because it was against gym rules or something like that. But he talked you up enough that I thought I’d take the risk.”

“I appreciate it.” Cas’s laugh is soft and gives Dean a pleasant little shiver down his spine. “Have you already checked in?”

Dean nods and sits back down. “Care to join me while we wait?”

Cas takes off his coat first and folds it over his arm before he sits. He’s dressed up really nicely in jeans and a _waist coat_ of all things over top of his button up. Dean feels a little underdressed next to him in his Henley and jeans. Of course he knows he looks good, because this shirt clings in _all_ the right ways. Proof in fact is more than one person has glanced his way since he came in.

“So, uh –” He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glances at Cas. “How do you pronounce your name? I’ve just been calling you Cas in my head.”

“That’s what most people tend to call me.” Cas turns that smile on him again and oh man. It makes Dean’s insides go all wibbly. “But it’s Castiel Novak, for the record.” He waves a hand to brush it off while rolling his eyes. “My parents were very religious and my siblings and I are all named after angels. Most of my siblings got Archangels, and I got saddled with the angel of Thursday because that’s the day of the week I was born on.”

There’s a pregnant pause after he’s finished speaking where it’s almost like Cas is waiting for something to be said. Is there a comment he usually gets about his name that Dean is missing here? Sure, there’s something about that information that tweaks at the back of his mind, but it’s only a seed of a thought that never really forms.

Dean ignores it in favour of the prime conversation topic he’s been presented with. He latches onto _family_ so they don’t descend into awkward mutterings about the weather.

By the time they get seated and have their drinks ordered, he learns that Cas is the youngest of six siblings of which he only has one sister. His oldest two brothers are fraternal twins, and Cas is also the only one who hasn’t flown the coop. All his siblings are spread across the country and only two of them are as outrageously religious as his parents.

When the conversation turns back on him, Dean realizes his mistake. His family history is kinda his least favourite thing to talk about. He skirts the whole _mom died in a fire when he was four_ tragic backstory because that doesn’t get unlocked until date number ten. And he avoids mentioning the alcoholic and absent father that hasn’t been heard from in nearly ten years, because that’s at _least_ a date number five topic. Which is kind of hard to avoid talking about when he has to mention that he and Sam were raised in the foster system.

Cas doesn’t press about the matter and, in fact, is incredibly sweet about it. He reaches across the table and covers Dean’s hand where it’s resting next to his drink. “I can tell this isn’t your favourite subject. Don’t feel it necessary to give me all the details now.”

Was he just named after an angel, or is he really one, because Dean doesn’t know a single person who hasn’t tried to dig at that prime piece of information before. Even Charlie had been nosy about it when they first started gaming together, but she backed off when Dean snapped that it wasn’t something he wants to talk about. She knows now, but that was only after five years of gaming together and rooming together at Twitch-con and E3.

Of course after the family topic comes the job topic. Cas works in a technical support call center as a part of management. He leads a team and basically does scheduling, quality control on their chats or phone calls, and takes escalation calls when they’ve got an irate customer.

Cas sighs as he twirls a French fry through the little bowl of ketchup that came with his meal. “It’s really not want I want to be doing, but I haven’t gained enough ground towards my real goal yet for it to be enough to support me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean puts his burger down and leans forward slightly. “And what’s that?”

A smile plays across Cas’s lips before he takes a bite of his fry. “I think I’ve talked enough about myself. I’ll let you know after I learn a bit about you. Sam said you were self-employed?”

“Of course that twerp gives away all my secrets.” He rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair. “Not much to say, I guess. I’m self-employed and work from home.”

“Doing what?” Cas rests his elbow on the table and props his chin on his fist. “You must be successful at it, if Sam’s envy is anything to go by.”

Dean can’t help laughing at that – probably a little louder than the other restaurant goers would like. He grins and shakes his head. “He’s _super_ jealous that he has to get up and work a regular ol’ nine-to-five job with coworkers while I get to sit on my ass and play video games all day.”

Shockingly, Cas doesn’t seem surprised by that as most people are. Dean usually has to spend at least fifteen minutes explaining about professional gamers and how he makes money through YouTube ad revenue, sponsors, and Twitch donations from his subscribers by also doing various challenges and what not. People tend to get thrown off by the _video games_ portion of his job. He should really start just saying he’s an online entertainer or something to make it easier for them to wrap their heads around it.

No wait. That makes it sound like he’s a cam-boy.

The way Cas’s eyes squint with his smile is almost amused and he tilts his head slightly. “That sounds like fun. You’re on both YouTube _and_ Twitch, aren’t you?”

“And now I know why Sam said we have things in common.” Dean grins and sits forward again. “You’re the first person to not criticize me for playing video games for a living.”

“Why would I when that’s _exactly_ the business I’m trying to break into?” Cas’s smile grows when Dean’s jaw drops in actual surprise. “It’s a tough business to gain traction in and I don’t have very many subscribers, but it’s growing steadily. I’m strictly on Twitch though.”

A little fire of competitiveness starts burning in Dean’s belly because he’s always been this way. But he’s also done his best to help support the smaller gamers out there. He’ll play with them, promote them on his channel, and send raids their way after he’s finished streaming.

And this is actually _great_ news. Most of Dean’s previous partners, all relationships of which have fallen flat within the first month, have had a lot of trouble accepting what he does for a living. Either they don’t understand it, or they don’t like that he actually makes more money than them by playing video games, or they think it’s not a _real_ job, and the list goes on and on. But here’s this _mega hottie_ (thank you, Sam!) who’s not only interesting, and kinda funny in a dry way, but also _understands_ and is working towards the same goal? Jackpot!

“That’s really awesome.” The fact that Dean’s burger has lasted this long is proof that he’s more interested in his company than he is his food – and that says _a lot_. “What games do you play?”

Cas lists off a few games like **Dead by Daylight** , **Rainbow Six Seige** , **Golf It** , a number of other games (both single and multiplayer), and almost seems embarrassed when he mentions that he does a lot of **Minecraft** too. But it’s the last one he mentions, **Freedom Raid** , that really gets Dean’s attention. He’s played most – if not all of those games – but that’s the only one that he’s been steadily dedicated to.

“You play **Freedom Raid** too?” He must be smiling like an idiot, but he can’t stop himself. “That is my _game_. I actually won a national tournament for it a few years back!” Dean stops short and ducks his head. “Uh – sorry. Didn’t mean to toot my own horn there.”

“Don’t ever be ashamed of your accomplishments, Dean.” Cas’s foot nudges his under the table and Dean feels it like an electric shock reverberating up his leg. “I’ve watched a lot of tournaments for various games, and the level of skill and hard work it takes to win at a _national level_ is astounding.”

Dean still ducks his head and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Aw stop it, man, you’re gonna make me blush.” He shifts his foot to press more firmly against Cas’s. If he acts like he didn’t notice it, Cas might think he’s not interested and that is seriously the _opposite_ of what Dean wants.

“Would it be too much to ask if you would like to play with me some time?” Cas tilts his head, almost shy with his question. “I want to stress that I don’t mean it as an attempt to boost my subscriber count by associating myself with a big name like yours, but rather just for fun?”

“I wouldn’t mind adding you to my play circle, Cas. I think it’d be fun to stream with you.” Dean shrugs and goes for his most reassuring smile. “But if you don’t want to be _on_ all the time and just want a relaxing game to play, I think that would be cool.”

That gets him a bright smile and another press against his foot. “Do you have plans for after dinner?”

“Are you inviting me back to your place on the _first date_ , Cas?” Dean sits back and puts a hand to his chest, feigning shock. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

It has the exact opposite effect that he was expecting. Instead of laughing, Cas actually flushes like three different shades of red. He splutters a bit, mouth working without making words and Dean realizes that he’s gone and made the poor dude _flustered_.

“Okay, that’s just fucking adorable.” He leans forward again and reaches out to pat Cas on the back of his hand. “I’m just joking, Cas.”

“I’m sorry.” Cas breathes out and covers his face with both hands. “I’m very – I’ve never really _dated_ before.” He lowers his hands and he’s got this whole kicked puppy look to him that makes Dean want to wrap him in bubble wrap and protect him forever. “My last relationship was with a close friend in high school, and things just kind of _happened_ with her until we realized that we were better off friends than lovers. I’ve never done this dating – let alone _blind dating_ – thing before.”

After a pause, Cas groans and drops his face into his hands again. “And I just remembered that my sister coached me _not_ to talk about past relationships on a first date.”

“Hey now, it’s okay.” Dean hums and sits back again. “I’m happy to be your training wheels in the dating scene if you need it. In fact, if I told you about how well versed I am with all this, you’d probably start thinking something’s wrong with _me_ to date as much as I do, but –”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” Cas interrupts him sharply, head popping up and expression more stern than expected. “I think our date has been going swimmingly and I like you.”

That makes Dean blush again and he can’t help grinning. “Well, for the record I’m also really enjoying this date and I like you too.”

“Does that mean there’s a second date in our future?” Cas sits up a little more, looking too hopeful for Dean to say anything other than ‘yes’.

“There’s a strong possibility of it.” He answers instead and picks up his burger. “The date isn’t over yet, so there’s still plenty of time for you to decide my charm is more obnoxious than adorable. And, if the offer is still open, I totally plan to whoop your ass at a one-on-one **Freedom Raid** match.”

A one-on-one match is a little different from normal game play in that they’re given a team of AIs that they’ll be commanding. They can pick what kind of soldier they want, outfit them in armor and weapons, and even pick battle maneuvers. They can edit maneuvers at will while playing, so usually the actual player hangs back and lets the AIs do all the work before coming in to clean up afterwards. It’s almost more challenging than regular team play.

“That sounds like fun.” Cas relaxes back into his seat and starts on his (now cold) fries again. “Could we also do a team round? I’d think it would be nice to work _with_ you and not _against_ you.”

“Absolutely! We can do a two-versus-two against some randos.” Dean shrugs and takes a bite out of his burger, chewing and swallowing before continuing because he wasn’t raised to be a slob (thank you, foster family). “Should we just exchange info here and add each other when we get home?”

Cas considers it while he slowly polishes off the last of his fries, his own burger having been demolished while Dean was talking-but-not-really about his family. “If you’re not against it, I am able to do two players on my set up. Though I did bus here.”

“And I drove. If you’re cool with it, I’ll happily give you a ride.” He wiggles his eyebrows a little bit, but that only gets a head tilt out of Cas. “Ah, so innuendos are lost on you. Good to know. How are you with puns? Because I love me a good pun.”

It’s another few seconds of silence from Cas as he apparently processes what was just said. As if on cue, he blushes scarlet again and Dean can’t help laughing. Cas stares down at his plate and oh. _Oh_. Maybe Cas is a little more innocent than he first appears. The tame footsie he’d initiated had led Dean to believe otherwise.

After finishing off his burger, he pushes his plate away and leans forward to cross his arms on the table. “Hey, can I be real with you?”

Cas looks up again, still blushing, but nods.

Dean offers his softest smile, hoping that he doesn’t come off as creepy or desperate. “This probably falls in the realm of what your sister said you shouldn’t talk about on a first date, but I like you so I’m going to be brutally honest with you.”

He waits for Cas to nod again, giving him the go ahead.

“I’m _really_ not known for my chastity.” It’s not much of a confession in Dean’s opinion, but whatever. Some people like knowing that about their potential partners. “I don’t know how much Sam told you about my history, but I have never had a problem sleeping with someone on the first date. It’s never my goal when I go out, and I definitely _don’t_ ghost them afterwards.”

The urge to fidget is strong, especially because Cas has some seriously intense blue eyes and he’s holding Dean’s gaze like he wouldn’t dare to look anywhere else. He swallows thickly and powers through it. “But I understand that not everyone is as cool with that as I am. So, if you don’t even want to kiss on the first date, I am _one hundred and ten_ percent okay with that. I’m not going to ask you or force you into anything that _you_ don’t want.”

Cas looks away briefly, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Does that – does that mean that you’re interested in _that_ with – uh – with _me_?”

“I have _so many_ crude ways that I could answer that.” Dean sighs wistfully and sits back again. “But I’ll spare you this time and just go with the simple answer. Yes, I am absolutely interested in doing _that_ with you.” In all positions. Preferably multiple times in various locations.

Another blush climbs from the collar of Cas’s shirt and up into his cheeks. Even his ears are red. But that’s a smile on his lips. “That’s – that’s good.”

Their waiter returns before Dean can even consider asking if Cas thinks the same about him, but that reaction leads him to believe that it would probably be a positive answer.

* * *

 

“So, this is my car.” Dean slaps his hand down on the roof of the Impala and grins at Cas. “Even if you’re not a car person, you have to admit she’s a beauty.”

“She certainly is.” Cas looks her over with an appraising eye. “I’m not big on cars, since I don’t own one myself and all, but I like her. A 1967 Impala, right?”

Dean raises an eyebrow, surprised. “For not being a car person, you’re dead on with that.”

“I figured as much, _IMPALA67_.”

Hold the fucking phone. “I don’t think I told you my tag.”

“Sam told me.” Cas shrugs and tucks his hands into his pockets. “He’s envious of what you do, but he’s very proud that you’re so successful at it.” After a pause, Cas clears his throat. “I also didn’t agree to this date until _after_ I learned your tag.”

“Holy shit.” Dean’s jaw drops. Is Cas actually a fan? This is the first time he’s ever dated a _fan_. “Did you know about me _before_ he told you about my tag?”

Cas ducks his head and scuffs his toe against the cement. “I did. And I wasn’t sure if I should tell you, but I don’t feel right bringing you home to play games without telling you that I’ve actually been subscribed to your channel for a while now.” He shifts on his feet and looks everywhere but at Dean. “I first learned about you when I was watching the coverage of the **Freedom Raid** national tournament and you mentioned that you were on Twitch, I looked you up and I’ve been a fan ever since.”

Dean honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. He can only stand there with his mouth open and blink a few times while processing all of this. “I – Well, Cas, this is a first for me.”

“I _promise_ I’m not stalking you or anything.” Cas almost seems a little panicked when he turns to Dean again. “I really didn’t know that Sam was your brother until _after_ he told me your tag.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. You just caught me by surprise. It’s fine!” And it actually really is. Dean doesn’t often deal with his fans or even casual viewers in real life, but this has been a nice one. “You still want to head over to your place to play?”

It’s so obvious that Cas is trying not to look as eager as he is. “You still want to hang out with me?”

“Absolutely.” Dean shrugs and opens the passenger door for him. “It’s not like this really changes anything. I still had a great time at dinner and you’ve been good company so far.” He pauses before throwing in a wink for good measure. “And I’d still _happily_ play tonsil hockey with you.”

Cas’s nose wrinkles with his smile. “We’ll see about that.”

* * *

 

Cas has a second desk in his office where he sets Dean up with a gaming laptop. He settles in at his own set up, which is sorely lacking in many of the things that Dean personally feels would help a lot. But that shit is _expensive_ and Cas seems happy working his way up the subscriber count. A lot of people don’t ever end up being able to go Twitch professional. Some might just make enough to be able to drop to part time. And some just do it for fun and a little extra cash on the side.

Dean logs himself into **Steam** and opens up the friend screen. “Send me a request and I’ll accept it.”

A moment later, the little rectangle pops up in the corner of the screen. Dean goes to click it and does a double take. Just like that, that little tweak at the back of his mind puts the pieces together. Cas was named after an angel. Specifically the angel of _Thursday_.

 _ThursdaysAngel would like to add you to their friend list_.

Since his mouse is resting over the notification, it doesn’t fade after ten seconds like it normally would. Dean has all the time in the world to stare at it and process that he just spent a really enjoyable dinner with the guy who sniped him in the goddamn head him this afternoon.

The only acceptable reaction really, is to laugh. “You son of a _bitch_.”

**END**


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Smith, Sam Wesson, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - Canon Deviation, Dean POV
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _anon: Sam Wesson and Dean Smith hunting shapeshifters during the company masquerade._

**PROMPT #17**

Dean hums along to the tune of the song playing through the one earbud he’s wearing. It’s rude to wear both in public. He carefully examines each bag of kale, looking for the one that looks the least wilted. This particular _fully organic_ store is usually pretty good at having everything nice and fresh. He already has all his vitamins picked out, and once he has his vegetables he’s going to hit the proteins. There is a snack food sectioned, but he’s going to ignore the hell out of that because they’re not half as healthy as they claim to be.

Most people who shop here are, in his experience, friendly but tend to keep to themselves. That’s why Dean finds it a little weird when someone steps _well_ inside his personal bubble. The guy’s shoulder bumps his and Dean spares him a glance before side stepping. Maybe he was just in his way? Whatever. Dean has his kale and he tosses the bag into the cart before moving down the line to look at the asparagus. There’s a new recipe that he’s been wanting to try and –

“Okay, what the heck!” Dean turns on his heel to face the guy who actually _followed him_ and is still standing way too close to be comfortable. “Can I help you with something or –” He stops and squints at the guy – taller than him by a few inches, long hair swept back out of his face. “I know you.”

The guy smiles brightly, clearly pleased that Dean recognizes him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

It takes a moment for the puzzle pieces to click together, and Dean should probably increase his fatty fish intake if it took him _that long_ to recognize the guy he fought a ghost with. He glances around the store, his heart rate kicking up slightly at the idea that maybe there’s some kind of spirit activity going on here. He _has_ taken to keeping a box of salt, matches, and a tire iron in the back of his Prius – just in case he ends up needing it.

“I go by Sam Winchester now.” The guy holds his hand out, his smile a little lopsided. “In case you forgot my name, it used to be Wesson.”

“Dean Smith.” Dean shakes his hand, because that’s the polite thing to do and he doesn’t want any shoppers who might be eavesdropping to think that he’s rude. “I thought you had left town in search of – uh – you know.” He waves his other hand to encompass the _not natural_ that they faced down before.

Sam tilts his head, glancing at the contents of Dean’s shopping cart and his yoga pants. He’s on his way home from a hot yoga session and, as annoying as it is, that particular studio doesn’t offer a changing room or showers afterwards. Normally Dean wouldn’t be caught dead outside while he’s a sweaty mess, but he keeps wet wipes in his car and he used them to give himself a quick wipe down so he’s presentable. Those are quite literally the only reason he thought it safe enough to come shopping.

“Still on that _cleanse_ and avoiding the carbs?” Sam raises an eyebrow and Dean frowns at him.

It’s been nearly two years since they last saw each other. Dean had decided to remain at _Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc_. and take the fifty thousand dollar bonus that Mr. Adler had offered him, while Sam moved on to hunt ghosts. He had considered going with him – had considered leaving _Sandover_ and refusing Mr. Adler’s offer – but Dean wasn’t willing to change his life _completely_.

And then the new head of Accounting was hired and, well, Dean definitely couldn’t leave after that. Sure, it only happened a few months ago and all, but those baby blues were more than enough to convince Dean that he made the right decision. As the Director of Sales and Marketing, he works _very_ closely with the Accounting department, and specifically the new head of it; Castiel Novak.

Dean has at least one standing meeting a week with Cas and he looks forward to those more than he cares to admit out loud. He also won’t admit that those are the days when he dresses his nicest – not that he isn’t always nicely dressed. But Dean makes sure that the colours and patterns bring out the best in both his eyes while also complimenting his shape. Given how often Cas tells him how good he looks, Dean knows that it’s all having _some_ impact, at least.

But that’s neither here nor there. Dean steps in front of his cart to hide it from Sam’s judging eyes. “Is there a reason you decided to _stalk me_ to my favourite grocery store?”

“I didn’t stalk you.” Sam shrugs and picks up a nearby apple. “I’m doing shopping of my own.”

Somehow, Dean doesn’t believe him. He grabs his asparagus and tosses it in the cart. “Then I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone to finish my shopping in peace.”

He gets down the next aisle before realizing that Sam isn’t following him. Even though he’s relieved, Dean still rushes through the rest of his shopping. All he wants now is to get out of here and get home, take a long shower, and make his meal plan for the rest of the week. He also has to check with a local custom costume shop to see when his outfit will be ready for the annual _Sandover Masquerade_ party taking place next weekend.

Unfortunately, his run in with Sam is still weighing heavy on his mind by the time he pays and leaves the store (with his reusable hemp shopping bags, thank you very much). He’s honestly not surprised to find the tall freak leaning against the driver’s door of his Prius. Dean ignores him entirely and uses his key fob to pop the trunk so he can put his groceries away.

Sam doesn’t speak until he’s closed the trunk and Dean starts seriously considering climbing through the passenger side so he can get out of here. “I need your help on another hunt.”

“No thank you.” Dean shakes his head and goes around to the passenger side. It might look ridiculous, but at least he can keep the doors locked while he’s climbing over the center console to get into the front seat. “I decided a long time ago that your kinda life just isn’t for me.”

“You don’t actually have to do the hunt with me.” Sam turns around and crosses his arms over the roof of the Prius, keeping his eyes on Dean. “The only help that I need from you is to take me as your plus one to the masquerade party this weekend. Once I’m in, you can go off and enjoy yourself and I’ll never bother you again.”

That bastard. He’s given _just_ enough information to get Dean’s interest piqued. It’s no secret between the two of them that he was just as interested in the ghost hunt at _Sandover_ as Sam was. The only difference between the two of them was that Sam wasn’t happy with _anything_ in his life. Dean, on the other hand, was very happy with his.

Does he sometimes wish he _had_ given it all up to go hunting with Sam? Maybe. But then he remembers that he has a loving family who would be _devastated_ if he just up and left them. Not to mention that he’s very satisfied with his job. He’s slowly climbing the corporate ladder and it’s great. It might be a little boring sometimes and the routine might be a bit monotonous, but life is good. And, of course, there’s also Cas.

Cas who Dean was planning on asking to be his date to the masquerade party. He shakes his head and uses the key to unlock the passenger door. “I already have a date to the party.”

“No you don’t.” Sam rests his chin on his arms and smiles. “I hacked your email. You’ve been dropping major hints to that guy in Accounting, but you haven’t asked him out yet.”

“That’s _illegal_.” Dean yanks the door open. “I could have you arrested. I could _sue_ you.”

Sam doesn’t seem bothered by that. He just hums and tilts his head to the side. “But you won’t because you want to know why I want to get back in to _Sandover_. Am I right, or am I right?”

“Leave me alone before I call the cops.” Dean slides into the passenger seat and shuts the door.

Before he can react, Sam opens the driver’s door and slides in too. Dean stares at him, jaw slack. How in the hell did he –? That door was _locked_! The only door Dean unlocked was the passenger door with the _key_. The car was locked before that and he only popped the trunk for his groceries, not unlocked every damn door.

“I jimmied the lock while you were finishing your shopping.” Sam shrugs and shuts the door. He holds his hands up with his palms out; his eyes pleading. “Will you just _please_ listen to what I have to say? If your answer is still ‘ _no_ ’, I’ll get out and won’t bother you again.”

Dean’s cell phone is strapped to his arm with the cord to his headphones still hanging from it. He briefly wonders if he can pull it out of the pouch and call the cops before he’s murdered.

After a moment, he rolls his eyes. “Fine. You have _sixty seconds_ to explain yourself.”

“Shapeshifters.”

That’s it. That’s all he gives. Dean still gives him the rest of the minute, waiting for him to continue his point. Instead, all Sam does is sit there and smile at him, smug in his answer. Two words. That’s all he said. _Two words_.

God _damn_ it.

Dean sighs and buckles himself in. “If you’ve hacked my email, I assume you know where I live too. Step on the brake and push the power button.”

“Good thing I was dropped off by my partner.” Sam’s grin turns victorious and he does up his seat belt too. “I’ll spare you from actually having to let me into your condo by telling you about this hunt on the way. Trust me, it’s a doozy.”

* * *

 

How is this his life?

It’s been two years since Dean banished a ghost with Sam Wesson. Two year and he was halfway convinced that he had imagined the whole thing. But here he is, wearing a fancy tuxedo with a weird half-cape covering one shoulder, a masquerade mask obscuring half his face, and Sam Wesson at his side in what is clearly just a _Phantom of the Opera_ costume he picked up at a thrift store.

 _Sandover_ rented out the cheapest ballroom they could find and it really does show. Dean doesn’t mind though, it’s still a fun way to mix all the different departments and various levels of the totem pole. Are you talking to one of the janitors or are you actually talking to the CEO? You’ll never know. People are still people no matter their position, but they tend to be a lot more reserved when they’re talking to their boss’s boss’s boss. With the anonymity of the masks, everyone can be a lot more relaxed and enjoy themselves on the company’s dime.

But Dean isn’t going to be able to enjoy himself tonight. Somewhere in the sea of costumed bodies are a group of shapeshifters – honest to God _shapeshifters_ – that have apparently kidnapped key members of management. They stole their faces and replaced them, but done nothing otherwise that Dean is aware of. He frequently rubs elbows with some pretty high ups, if he does say so himself, and he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if someone had started acting differently.

What would even be the point of infiltrating _Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc_.? The only reason Dean can think of is for the money, but someone would absolutely notice something like money disappearing. Especially when someone like Cas is head of Accounting. In all his time in corporate jobs, Dean has _never_ seen someone so devoted to their job. Cas reviews the accounts _daily_ , and his standing meeting with Dean is to go over the sales numbers with a fine toothed comb to make sure that there isn’t a single _cent_ out of place.

Speaking of Cas, he should be here by now, shouldn’t he? Crap. How is Dean going to be able to find him in this mess of masks? His plan to ask Cas to the party was _ruined_ by Sam – who is currently being a massive embarrassment by standing on his tiptoes and bouncing up and down to get a better look over the sea of people. He’s just shy of actually stepping up onto the nearest chair.

“Buddy, you need to _chill out_.” Dean hisses and elbows him in the side. “People are looking at you and you don’t want to get the attention of the _you-know-whats_ , do you?”

“I’m trying to find my partners.” Sam waves him off with a hushed voice. “They said they were already here and working at finding our targets.”

Dean looks around too, but he doesn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. “Who are your partners? Maybe I can help find –”

“There you are!”

He just barely manages to bite back a squeak of surprise, even though he does jump slightly. Both Dean and Sam turn to find two others – dressed exactly like Sam. Though, to be fair, one of them has a much better quality outfit, and his mask has better detail.

While he recognized the voice immediately, the detailed _Phantom of the Opera_ mask only hides a little over half of the face. The other half is quite clearly Cas and Dean realizes, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he wasn’t speaking to _him_. Next to Cas is a petite woman, a bob of wavy red hair spilling just below her ears. He has no idea who she is.

“What took you so long?” The red-head crosses her arms and glares up at Sam. “We’ve been here for _half an hour_.”

“Sorry, Charlie. I had to wait for him to primp.” Sam jerks a thumb to the side and Dean briefly envisions snapping it in two. “But I’m here now. Do you know who they are?”

Charlie nods and snaps her fingers at Cas. He pulls a cheap looking smartphone – the very basic one you could possibly get – from his pocket. It’s definitely not the same one that was issued to him by _Sandover_ that Dean has seen a number of times. “I pretended that we’re taking pictures for the company Facebook page. I took pictures of a lot of people to make it seem like we weren’t singling them out, but I’ve since deleted the unnecessary ones and uploaded the important pictures to this phone.”

Cas passes his phone to Sam, not even looking in Dean’s direction once. “They might change their faces, but I doubt they have the money for spare costumes. I’ve been making sure that they haven’t been able to skim from the accounts in any way.”

How it doesn’t click before that moment is beyond him, but the puzzle pieces fall into place and Dean sucks in a sharp breath. “Holy shit. _You’re_ Sam’s partner.”

“Yeah, he is. Sorry.” Sam doesn’t look up from the phone as he thumbs through the pictures. “I lied when I said I hacked your email. Cas just let me read them from his work phone.”

To his credit, Cas does look a little uncomfortable with the confession. He still won’t look at Dean, but this time he’s looking at the floor; shifting on his feet. After a moment, he looks up at him with an almost sheepish smile. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Dean groans and runs a hand through his hair. Did _any_ of the interest that he thinks he might have picked up from Cas previously actually mean anything? God, he doesn’t even want to ask, because what if it wasn’t? He’s not sure if he could deal with the embarrassment of being _tricked_ like that. If it’s not _shapeshifters_ fooling him, it’s regular people. And _Cas_ being the one behind it? Well, that hurts more than he cares to admit.

“Whatever.” He sighs and turns away from the three of them. “Have fun with your hunt.”

Not waiting for them to say anything, Dean walks off into the crowd, heading directly for the bar. Alcohol is _terrible_ for the body, and he really shouldn’t touch it, but – God help him – he has _never_ needed a drink more.

* * *

 

Oh God, his aching _head_. Dean groans and it’s a struggle to peel his eyes open. His chin is touching his chest and the first thing he sees is his own lap, naked except for his boxer briefs. He’s not sure if it’s a hangover or something else that’s pounding like a point of pain at the back of his head, but it certainly doesn’t feel _nice_.

With some effort, he lifts his head only to find that he’s sitting on a chair in some kind of supply closet, judging by the mops and brooms hanging on the wall. How the hell did he –? That question gets knocked out of his head by another, more pressing one: _Why_ is he tied _to_ the chair? And then he realizes that he’s not alone.

There’s a nearly naked man kneeling at his feet, and Dean can feel hands on his ankles. Panic swells tight below his ribs as he realizes he’s going to be assaulted – until the guy lifts his head and Dean finds himself staring into his own face. That’s _him_. How the _fuck_ is he there when he’s right here? That panic drops right down into his belly, morphing into _horror_ because this is one of the shapeshifters. One of them knocked him out and _stole his face_.

He looks around the room quickly, hoping for some means of escape. That’s about when he discovers that there’s duct tape over his mouth because he nearly retches at the sight (and smell) of a wet pile of skin – _skin!_ – on the floor next to him.

The light reflects briefly in the shifters eyes as he smiles. “Oh, you’re awake! Sorry about this, Dean, but we’ve got some hunters on our trail and we have to hide.” It’s so disorienting to have his own voice speaking to him. “You were an easy target, what with you drinking so much. That’s so unlike you, isn’t it? I mean, I appreciate it and all.”

Shifter-Him shrugs as he stands up. “You’re lucky that we’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves with leaving bodies behind. Someone will find you in here eventually.” He pats Dean on the cheek and grins. “I just need to borrow your pretty face to make my escape.”

Thank _God_ the shifter is wearing underwear. Dean isn’t sure if he could handle looking at his own dick on someone else. It would just be _too weird_ and already the perfect little bubble that was his world has been brutally popped a couple times already today.

The shifter has Dean’s costume in hand and he dresses quickly. All Dean can do is squirm against his bindings and make muffled noises in his throat because this is _bullshit_. See? Alcohol isn’t just bad for the body, it’s bad in general. If he hadn’t been drinking, this wouldn’t have happened. And his body is going to hate him in the morning for it too. He’ll have to do the cleanse again to rid himself of all the calories. That’s a low priority, but it’s helping to ground him.

“See ya, Dean. It was nice working with you.” Shifter-Him raises a hand in a little wave before ducking out the door and letting it swing shut behind him.

Is this really happening? How long is he going to be trapped in here? This has to be some kind of fucked up dream!

Dean struggles against the rope. It’s rough and rubs the skin raw around his ankles, wrists, and over his chest and arms where it’s binding him to the back of the chair. He freezes when he hears a gunshot. It’s muffled, but nearby, and oh dear God are they killing people? Is Shifter-Him going to come back to tie up a loose end? He’s not ready to die yet!

His heartbeat feels like it’s in his throat and he almost swallows his tongue when the door to the closet is ripped open only moments later. Relief floods through him and he sags in the chair when he realizes it’s Cas standing there; a little wild-eyed and breathing heavily, but there. And then the relief is gone again in an instant because shitshit _shit_ this could be a shapeshifter too!

There’s blood flecked across the white of the _Phantom_ mask and maybe-Cas is holding a gun. An honest-to-goodness _gun_. Dean can’t remember the last time he saw one in person and the image of his brains splattered across the chemical cleaners behind him makes his vision swim.

But then maybe-Cas is tucking the gun into the back of his pants and stumbling forward, the door automatically swinging shut behind him. He pulls his mask off and tosses it aside as he drops to his knees in front of Dean. “Oh thank God you’re okay.”

Dean frowns around the duct tape as Cas cups his face briefly before his fingers flit up into his hair. They press gently around his scalp until Dean groans and ducks away from the touch, pain singing across a point at the back of his head. Cas winces, but then he’s hover-handing it down his neck and over his shoulders. He doesn’t quite touch him as he checks the rest of his body for any damage.

With no obvious wounds (that Dean is aware of), Cas sags back to sit on his heels with a relieved sigh. He looks up at Dean, eyes now soft and earnest. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

If he did, Dean wasn’t awake for it. He shakes his head and tries working his jaw because he wants the damn tape off.

Cas winces, even as he reaches up to start picking gently picking at a corner. “This is going to hurt.”

He doesn’t give any actual warning before he rips it off sharply. _Son of a bitch_! Dean swears violently and jerks back in the chair, shaking his head hard like that will somehow make half his face stop stinging. There are tears in his eyes and he blinks them away as Cas cups his face again. His thumbs run lightly over his lips, sweeping gently over every inch of stinging skin.

“I’m sorry.” And, to his credit, Cas actually looks _and_ sounds sincere. “I should have been watching you more closely. They never would have grabbed you if I hadn’t –”

“Wait.” Dean interrupts, frowning. “You were _watching_ me?”

Cas softens slightly and the corner of his lips lifts in a half-smile. “Of course. I was worried something might happen to you.” And then his smile falls and his eyebrows come together. “But then I got distracted when one of the shifters made a move on someone else. The next time I looked, you were gone and so was one of the shifters and I just _knew_ they had gotten you.”

That – that – What? Dean is having way too much trouble wrapping his brain around this. “Why were you worried about _me_? I’m just one of the people you tricked into thinking you were an actual certified accountant and not a _hunter_.”

“No, Dean, you’re – ” Cas pauses and looks down. He drops his hands to pull a knife from a holster on his _calf_ and starts cutting away at the rope. “You’re different.”

Oh. _Oh_. That makes his heart skip a beat.

“Oh.”

And that’s about when Dean realizes that he’s sitting in front of Cas in just his underwear. He clears his throat and forces himself not to cross his legs once his ankles are free. “You – uh – You wouldn’t happen to have a change of clothes, would you? I don’t think I’m getting my outfit back from that shifter.”

Cas looks up from cutting Dean’s wrists free. He looks him over once, twice, and a slight flush rises in his cheeks. “I don’t have anything extra with me, but I can text Charlie and Sam to bring something.”

He sits back on his heels again and pulls his phone out. Cas fumbles with it for a moment, balancing it in his hands with the knife while he sends the message. Dean watches him closely, trying to merge this version of Cas with the one that he already knows. It’s weird. And it’s all the more weird because it’s not that difficult a thing to do and he kind of actually likes it?

Maybe it’s all the beer and shots that he did earlier, but Dean’s tongue is a little loose and he’s feeling bolder than usual. “What happens at the end of a hunt?” Given the situation, if he was sober he probably wouldn’t have asked that.

To prove that it’s not a normal thing to ask, Cas looks up from his phone with his face creased in a bit of a frown. “I’m sorry?”

“What do you do when you finish a hunt like this?” He shrugs and tilts his head to the side slightly. “Are you just going to quit _Sandover_ and disappear?”

“That _is_ how it generally goes.”

Dean hums as Cas gets back to cutting him free. There’s only one wrist and the rope around his chest to go. “And how does me being _different_ factor into that?”

Cas pauses with the knife under the rope around his wrist, poised to pull up sharply and cut it. He stares up at Dean, eyes intense as always. His tongue flicks out, sweeping over his bottom lip briefly, and Dean tracks it closely. So close, in fact, that he almost misses when those lips move around actual words.

“I don’t know.” Cas swallows and looks away, watching what he’s doing as he cuts the rope and goes to the last one that holds him to the chair. “I’ve never really made a _connection_ like this during a hunt – and I’ve been hunting since I was a _child_.”

He hums again and leans forward against the rope until it’s cut too. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” The last of the rope falls away and Cas sits back again, frowning at the floor.

That’s no good. Dean watches him for a moment, thinking it over, before either the beer or the shots gives him an _excellent_ idea. “Do you wanna go out for dinner some time?”

This is probably a very inappropriate time to ask, but Dean could have _died_ tonight instead of just being tied up in a closet. There’s no time like the present, so why the fuck not?

Cas blinks up at him again, head tilted slightly to the side. After a moment, he snorts and follows it with a soft laugh that makes Dean’s knees go weak. Cas shakes his head before looking up at Dean, smiling. “I would _love_ to go to dinner with you some time.”

Dean’s answer gets interrupted before he can even give it, as the door opens right then. Charlie looks between them briefly before dropping a plastic bag next to Castiel. “Sam has the other shifters cornered, so I’m going to deal with that. Join us when you’re done doing –” She looks pointedly at Dean before turning back to Cas. “– whatever it is that you’re doing.”

With that, she turns on her heel and is gone. Cas passes the clothes to Dean and stands up. “I really should go and help them.”

“You have my number.” Dean shrugs, trying to play it cool and not like he’s doing cartwheels on the inside, and peeks into the bag. Part of him balks at the flannel and stained jeans. He’s going to have to shower a million times when he gets home to get the funk off him that these are liable to give him.

“Yes, I do.” Cas steps in and Dean glances up at him. “I really would have liked to have taken you as my date tonight. It would have been fun to dance with you.”

Before Dean can answer, Cas dips down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He takes off, leaving Dean alone with a dropped jaw and the growing _want_ for more than just that.

On the bright side, tonight didn’t turn out half as bad as Dean thought it would – shapeshifters knocking him out and stealing his face notwithstanding.

**END**


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - Modern, Dean POV, meet cute, strangers to friends
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _monarchmish: Destiel tech shop AU. Cas brings his computer into “Winchester Bros Electronics Repair Shop” after his laptop malfunctions. Dean can’t help but snoop through the hot blue eyed man’s computer and eventually decides to check his own Facebook on the device, but forgets to log out._

**PROMPT #18**

The bell rings on the front desk and it takes Dean a little too long to realize that he’s actually the only one in the store right now. Sam is out getting their lunches. How he forgot something involving food, he’ll never know.

“Just a minute!” Dean shouts from his work room where he’s in the process of soldering some components together to try and get a busted old IBM working again. It’s a pet project and just something to do to keep him busy during downtime at the store.

He carefully wipes the tip of the soldering iron on a damp sponge to remove any old solder before he hangs it on the rack and turns it off. The exhaust fan is still going above his work station and he leaves it on to clear the room of any other fumes from the soldering iron.

There’s a slightly small, but clunky looking laptop sitting on the desk when he comes out into the main area of the store. It’s a small hole in the wall kind of space. When Dean and Sam renovated it after signing the lease, they wanted most of the inside to be devoted to storage and their work spaces. They share a work room off the front desk, and beyond that is a small employee area with a table where they can eat. There’s a bathroom tucked in somewhere back there too – right before storage.

Dean spots the clunky laptop’s owner looking at the refurbished laptops they have displayed in a case along one wall. Aside from the desk where they process basically everything, the rest of the store space is pretty open. The desk is directly opposite the front door, and between the two is a couple chairs for customers to sit and wait when they need to. They have posters filling that wall detailing their prices and what they do. The other wall is the locked display cases for showcasing the stuff they fix up that holds some kind of resale value – hopefully.

The guy looks kind of like a flasher from this angle, with a tan overcoat dragging down around his knees. His hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in twenty years, and it kinda makes sense that this truly _ancient_ laptop probably belongs to him. It’s an old Lenovo ThinkPad model, and he won’t know which one exactly until he opens it, but Dean is pretty sure it’s not even from this century.

When the guy turns to come back to the desk, Dean decides that he wouldn’t mind being flashed by him. He’s kinda scruffy, but in a clean cut five o’clock shadow way. His suit and most of the shape of his body is hidden by the formless overcoat, but he doesn’t look bad _at all_. Thank God Dean is still wearing his protective goggles and face-mask. They’re tinted just enough to hide how he’s ogling the guy, and how his jaw maybe dropped a little.

Right, mask! Not good for business!

Dean pulls the ventilated facemask down to hang around his neck and he pushes his goggles up onto the top of his head. He doesn’t miss how the guy’s eyebrows go up sharply, and he tries not to smile too much about it.

“Hey, sorry for the wait. I couldn’t really drop what I was doing.” Dean jerks a thumb over his shoulder before realizing that he’s also wearing his thick protective gloves. He pulls them off and drops them on the counter. “What can I help you with?”

The guy opens his mouth and Dean’s knees almost immediately go weak at his voice. “My laptop stopped working and I have some very important documents that I need.”

He clears his throat so he doesn’t squeak when he speaks. “Okay, we should be able to help with that. I can’t make any official promises until I hear more about the problem.” Dean taps the top of the ancient Lenovo. “This is it, right?”

“Yes. It won’t turn on.” He pulls a long cable out of his pocket and places it next to the laptop. “I’ve charged it fully, but none of the lights are working and nothing happens when I try to turn it on.”

Dean hums and thumbs the lock so he can lift the screen and take a look. To his surprise – and just a little bit of horror – it opens and the keyboard rises with it to spread and click together. “Holy _shit_.” He lowers the screen to repeat the motion, watching the butterfly keyboard fold out. “Dude, how long have you had this thing?”

The butterfly keyboard for the Lenovo ThinkPad was introduced something like more than twenty years ago and Dean is almost positive that was when blue-eyes-soft-lips bought this thing. It’s honestly impressive that he was using it this long, but how in the hell does he get _anything_ done on it?

“I’ve had it a very long time.” The guy sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Please don’t give me the lecture about how it’s essentially obsolete. I’ve heard that enough from my brother.”

“Are you sure? Because I have a really convincing argument for why you should upgrade.” Dean holds down the power button, watching and listening closely for any result. “I mean, as sturdy as these dinosaurs are, your operating system probably isn’t supported anymore which puts _everything_ you have on here at risk. File corruption, viruses, and all sorts of other bad juju.”

The guy frowns and crosses his arms defensively. “I don’t use the internet with it and I _like_ this laptop.”

“So do I, dude. These things were _sweet_ in their hay day.” Dean runs his fingers over the keyboard, tapping experimentally at it. “I’m just saying, your data isn’t safe if you’re using this puppy to go online or anything.”

“I use it for my manuscripts.”

He’s a writer? Neat! Dean glances up, eyebrow raised. “Okay, now I’m curious. I’m guessing you have to submit your manuscripts somewhere, right? How do you get the files to where they need to go? And _please_ tell me you’re not still using floppy disks.”

“I have an adapter that lets me connect a USB stick.” The guy shrugs and looks away, a little bit of red creeping up over his collar. After a moment, he sighs and his arms drop. “Can you fix it or not?”

“I can try.” Since it’s not responsive at all, he’ll have to take it apart and replace it piece by piece to find out what might be stopping it from turning on. “But parts for something this old can be costly. I’m not trying to push a sale or anything, but it really might be in your best interest to get something a little more current.”

The guy glances over at the refurbished laptops. His nose wrinkles slightly – _cute!_ – and Dean looks back down at the Lenovo so he doesn’t get caught staring. “If I could get away with using a typewriter, I would. But my publisher wants digital copies for editing.”

It’s honestly impressive that they can even open the files. Dean clears his throat and closes the laptop again, grinning as the keyboard lifts and folds away. “Well, I’ll do my best to get her working again. Worst case scenario is that it’s dead as a doornail and I have to access the hard drive to transfer your files out so you can still have them.”

That gets the guy to smile and he leans forward, eyes wide and hopeful. “You can do that?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. As long as this thing isn’t fried completely, I can work my magic on it.” He knocks his knuckles against the top of the laptop.

After several long moments of staring down at the laptop, the guy squares his shoulders and looks up again. “If you can save this, please do. I _really_ don’t want to get a new laptop. And my publisher is splitting the repair fee, so don’t worry about any costs accrued during repairs.”

Dean won’t pretend to understand why he’s so attached to this, but okay. He nods and moves the laptop out of the way. “I’ll do what I can.” From under the counter he gets the keyboard for the screen they have mounted to the corner of the desk. “I just have to get your contact information. Do you have a deadline you need this back by?”

“The sooner the better.” The guy sighs and frowns down at the laptop. “I’ll write by hand in the meantime, but it’s nowhere near as efficient as typing.”

After filling out the work order, Dean now has a name to go with the face. Castiel Novak – which is apparently his real name and _not_ his pen name. The distinction apparently matters, not that Dean cares. Once he gets the files, he could _easily_ snoop through them. A quick Google search and _bam_ , he’ll know what series he writes and everything.

“That’s about that.” Dean peels the label that prints with the customer’s copy of the work order and sticks it on the laptop. “I’ll give you a call when it’s ready for pick up.”

“Thank you.” Cas smiles at him as he tucks the paper into an inside pocket of his coat. “Is there anything else you need me for?”

A date to get to know him better would be nice, but Sam implemented a very strict _no hitting on the customers_ rule the moment they opened the shop together. Even if he’s not here, he’d find out somehow and that is _not_ a lecture Dean wants to listen to. Again.

“Nope, we’re all good to go.” He picks the charging cable and laptop up. “Good luck with hand writing your manuscript and I’ll be in touch.”

Dean waves Cas out before heading back into the work room. He places the laptop on his “To Do” shelf. It’s more of a priority than anything else he has on the docket, and the more important stuff Sam can do when he gets back. He’s pretty much done everything he had lined up anyways.

First things first, he has to finish up the motherboard he was working on.

*

After a thorough inspection and a second check also done by Sam, Dean has come to the conclusion that a lot of the components can’t be saved. He was able to remove the hard drive and download everything on it to a remote drive, but the rest might as well be a lost cause. Fortunately for Cas, he brought his laptop to a shop run by two _very_ tenacious men who don’t know the meaning of giving up.

It also helps his case that Dean is a _very_ thirsty, very _single_ dude who happens to be a massive sucker for blue-eyed brunettes.

He takes a day to completely dismantle the laptop. Basically everything _inside_ the chassis goes right into the bin, expect for anything associated to the keyboard. That’s still working fine, though he does give the keys and everything a good clean. The next day Dean rebuilds the laptop completely using any spare parts that they have. The outside will remain the same, but it’s a whole new computer on the inside.

The LCD screen isn’t half as good as current ones, so there’s not really anything he can do for clarity. But by the time Dean is done putting everything back together, the operating system is current, and it works about ten times faster than usual. The laptop even has Wi-Fi capabilities now, even if Cas probably won’t use it. If he _does_ use it, now he can upload his manuscripts to a cloud and make it easier on his poor publishers.

To test its connectivity, Dean loads in Firefox (he’s usually a Chrome man, but he has the feeling that Cas would use _Explorer_ if left to his own devices) and tests out a few sites. Google runs fine, Imgur loads fine if not a little bit slow with all those pictures, and he even logs into Facebook as part of his test – and maybe because he also wants to check to see if his D&D group has any new information going on since they’re supposed to have a game later this week.

Hopefully Cas will like what he did. It’s a whole new computer, but in the same case. After the cost of man hours, it’ll probably be _slightly_ cheaper than getting one of the refurbished laptops, if only because this is such an old model. But it’s what Cas knows and likes and – well, it really was the best that could be done to preserve it.

And if it means Cas will come back to use their services again because Dean did such a stellar job? Well – that’s just a bonus.

*

The phone rings while he’s in the middle of taking apart some kid’s keyboard to clean under the keys from the latest spill made on it. Dean snatches it up and tucks it between shoulder and ear before Sam can even step back from the guts of the computer he’s elbow deep in. “Winchester Bros Electronic Repairs. Dean speaking.”

“ _You’re not answering your cell phone_.”

“Because I’m _working_ , Charlie.” Dean rolls his eyes and reaches for a can of compressed air. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until I can look at my texts?”

She sighs loudly because clearly he’s just _such_ a difficult person. “ _When did you get a dog and why haven’t you invited me over to see it_?”

He pauses with his thumb on the top of the can and the needle tip pointed at the crumbs between the key beds. “The hell are you talking about? I don’t have a dog.”

“ _Then you might want to check your Facebook page there, buddy_.”

Dean frowns and switches the phone to his other ear so he can reach his cellphone. He thumbs through to his Facebook app and, sure enough, his page is _filled_ with pictures of one specific dog. And a cat. As he’s staring at it, trying to figure out how the hell they got there, a new picture pops up. This time it’s a cat sitting in the lid of a cardboard box. It’s on a desk next to a very distinctive laptop that Dean would recognize anywhere.

“Well, shit.”

“ _What_?”

“I think I left myself logged in on a customer’s computer.” There’s a gasp from behind him and Dean flips Sam off. “He was super happy that I upgraded his laptop enough that he could use Facebook on his computer instead of just on his phone. I think he might be a little computer illiterate though and might be using my account thinking it’s his.”

Charlie snorts and it quickly morphs into a giggle. “ _Maybe you should let him have it. He posts better stuff than you anyways_.”

“Screw you.” Dean sticks his tongue out, more so because he just scrolled down and found that Cas had posted some kind of inspirational quote and it’s just – so not what Dean posts. His account is mostly just pictures of him going fishing with his buddies, or at car shows where he shows off his _pristine_ 1967 Chevy Impala.

With a groan, Dean ends his call with Charlie. He grumbles to himself and ignores Sam’s attempts to lecture him as he uses the tablet mounted to the board above his desk area to access the work order history. It takes a few moments to find Cas’s information, and he punches it into the phone.

The line rings a few times before it’s picked up. “ _Hello_?”

“Hey, Cas. This is Dean from Winchester Bros Repair. You brought your laptop in last week?”

“ _Oh yes_! _Hello, Dean_.” Cas sounds a little surprised at first, but his voice quickly warms up and _fuck_ it should be illegal to sound that good. “ _To what do I owe the pleasure_?”

Dean digs his fingers into his thighs to keep himself focused on task. It wouldn’t do to start daydreaming right now. “Well, this is kinda a weird question, but do you own a Corgi?”

There’s a moment of silence before Cas answer. “ _Yes_? _How did you –_?”

“And a cat?”

“ _Are you stalking me_?”

Fuck! “No, holy shit, _no_! I’m just – You’re just – It’s –” He swears under his breath and runs a hand over his face. “You’re posting their pictures to my Facebook.”

Cas is quiet again, but Dean can hear a mouse clicking in the background. He must be at his laptop right now. “ _Oh_.” Cas hums. “ _How in the world did I not notice that this isn’t my account_?” He pauses again. “ _And why were you logged in on my laptop_?”

Because he’s an unprofessional piece of shit? Dean sighs and drops his forehead onto his desk. “Honestly, I really shouldn’t have done it, but I was testing things out to make sure it was all working right. I’m really sorry about this, Cas. Could you just – y’know – log me out?”

Instead of answering, Cas is humming again. The little noises he makes are _really_ distracting. “ _You have a very nice car. I drive a 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V_.”

“That’s a hell of a pimpmobile, Cas.”

“ _My brother says the same thing_.”

Wait a minute. “Cas, are you going through my account?”

“ _Not quite. I opened up the albums so I can delete all the pictures that I posted._ ” He sounds like he’s smiling and Dean shouldn’t be able to picture that so easily in his head for only having met the guy in person twice. “ _I can’t help it if I see some of your other photos at the same time._ ”

Dean groans and slumps back in his chair. Thank _God_ that he doesn’t have any embarrassing stuff on his account. In his opinion, he has some very good photos. The only embarrassing shit he does that gets documented are the pictures posted by other people and he’s tagged in them. He’s pretty sure that the only ones like that would be from the D&D and LARPing group.

“When you’re done, could you _please_ just log me out?”

“ _Yes, of course. As soon as I’m – Oh_.” Cas sucks in a sharp breath before his voice pitches up with excitement. “ _Dean, do you play Dungeons & Dragons_?”

The fucker is _snooping_. “Dude, you’re not supposed to be looking around in there!”

“ _How long have you been playing_?” He is definitely excited now. “ _Do you have a favourite edition_? _Which class and race is your favourite to play_?”

Dean sits up slightly, eyebrow raise at the wall. “Cas, are you – do you play too?”

“ _Yes_!” Cas almost sounds giddy, clearly delighted to have found someone else who plays too. “ _In fact, getting into this game during my formative years really inspired me to start writing. I actually DM for a small group and I’m always looking for new players – if you’d be interested_?”

Holy shit. This is – Is this normal? Do people usually ask people they barely know to join their DM group? Or is Cas hitting on him somehow? Dean is probably just getting his hopes up because he swooned over a pretty face. But he can’t deny that he’s kinda into it? Cas is hot and this one conversation has pinged a couple intriguing points about him.

After a moment, Dean shrugs and tries to keep from sounding _too_ interested. “Well, why don’t you log me out, log yourself in, and send me a friend invite? We can talk about it.”

Charlie might try and call him out as a defector or a betrayer or something equally ridiculous, but Dean can totally maintain two different campaigns – especially if he’s not the DM. She’ll also totally forgive him once he explains how hot Cas is. Plus, he’s a nerd and likes old cars! Could he _get_ any more perfect? God, Dean wants to get to know him _so much more_ now.

“ _Okay, I’ve logged you out. I’ll invite you to my D &D group too_.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean squirms in his seat, probably getting more excited about this than necessary. “And, again, I’m really sorry about this. I shouldn’t have logged myself in, period.”

Cas actually _laughs_ , soft and low. “ _Don’t worry about it, Dean. I’m glad this happened._ ” He honestly sounds sincere and it’s wreaking havoc with Dean’s insides. “ _It was nice to get a peek into your life. I look forward to getting to speak to you again soon._ ”

“I – uh – yeah. Me too.”

“ _I should get back to writing now. It was nice talking to you again. Goodbye, Dean._ ”

He licks his lips and closes his eyes, praying briefly for self-control. “See ya, Cas.”

Dean hangs up and sits back in his chair, staring at the phone. Did that really just happen?

Sam appears at his shoulder, as if out of nowhere. “What was that all about?”

Y’know, Dean’s not sure if he could explain it enough for him to understand. He’s still wrapping his own head around how being an unprofessional dumbass might just have landed him a new friend? If he plays his cards right, it might even be more than that. Dean is going to have to test the waters on that front, but it’ll be interesting to see where this goes.

At the very least, he’s got a new friend and that’s pretty sweet.

**END**


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Fallen!Cas, Human!Cas, Castiel POV, pre-relationship, unrequited feelings, but are they really?
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Castiel has been human for only a few short months. He learns new things every day, especially when he goes out in public, but he isn’t sure why everyone is so excited to visit IKEA. What makes it different from Home Depot or Lowe’s? Those stores don’t bring joy. Target brings joy, but not as much as Ikea apparently. Humans are baffling, and now he is one too._

**PROMPT #19**

Castiel leans back against the window and watches the people coming and going. He has never seen so many people look so excited to go into a _store_ of all things. If there were something entertaining inside, he would understand, but it’s just furniture and various house wares.

The children he can somewhat understand, because he saw a play area for them before he turned around to face the parking lot. But grown adults tugging at each other and excitedly talking about what they’re looking for? _Baffling_.

In his time as a Human, which has only been a few months officially (not including the odd moments when he was _somewhat_ Human throughout the last few years), Castiel has gone shopping many times. He tagged along with Sam when they went to Walmart to replace clothing they damaged during hunts, and all the shoppers there seemed so… worn and drained. And he’s accompanied Dean to both the grocery store and various hardware stores when they need to restock supplies, and people don’t smile near as much as what he sees right now.

Everyone approaching the massive turning glass doors just looks – they look _happy_. It’s weird. Or maybe he’s the weird one for _not_ smiling? It’s not like this is Target, where he’s been only once. It seemed mostly to be mothers going there. Even overworked as they must be, the parents seemed happier than Castiel thinks he would have seen at Walmart.

He tilts his head back to look at the giant blue and yellow sign towering in a corner of the parking lot. _Ikea_. People just seem to _love_ Ikea and he has no idea why. To be fair, this is his first time here. Dean had warned him that people get _weird_ when they come here, but does _happy_ constitute _weird_? Given the lives of the Winchesters, which is now Castiel’s life too, he supposes that could be correct.

“There you are!”

Castiel looks down again as Dean and Sam approach. “Why are you surprised? I told you I would wait at the door.” And he’s standing right next to it.

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “Oh shut up and let’s get this over with. I know exactly what we’re getting and we are _not_ going through the showrooms to get it.”

“That’s not fair.” Sam starts towards the doors, waiting only long enough for both Castiel and Dean to catch up with him so they can all enter the spinning doors at the same time. “This is Cas’s first time at an Ikea and you’re going to rob him of that experience?”

“Is there a particular experience to be had here?” Castiel tilts his head to try and catch Dean’s eye, but he’s steadfastly _not_ looking at him.

Sam nods enthusiastically as he ducks out into what appears to be the lobby of the store. There is an escalator and staircase directly across from the door with elevators and a set of double doors beyond them. A display of furniture sits to their left and a woman in a yellow vest is handing out large yellow bags to the right; the children’s area behind her.

“Doing the whole showroom, marketplace, _and_ warehouse is almost like tradition. It’s fine not to do the upstairs when you’ve been here a bunch of times, but to skip it entirely on your first go? That’s not cool.” Sam shakes his head and turns a sad pout on Dean. “Please?”

“Nope.” Dean shakes his head and crosses his arms. “If you guys want to do that, go ahead. I’ll meet you at home with the furniture.”

Castiel fishes a ring of keys from his pocket and he holds it up, jingling them slightly. “How do you plan to do that when I have the truck? Do you plan to fit the furniture in the Impala?” He yanks the keys out of reach when Dean makes a grab for them and quickly puts them away again. “I would like the _full_ Ikea experience, please.” Maybe then he’ll understand why so many people look excited to be here.

Dean stares them both down for a few moments before he rolls his eyes. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” He starts towards the stairs and begins taking them two at a time. “You enjoy your little trip. _I’m_ hitting the restaurant and getting me some goddamn meatballs.”

“There’s a _restaurant_?” Castiel has never encountered a singular store with its own restaurant before. The mall has food courts, and Walmart has a McDonalds, but Ikea has its own restaurant? Interesting. Is that why people like this place so much?

Sam sighs loudly and shakes his head. “Ignore him, Cas. You and me? We’re going _exploring_.”

* * *

 

Near an hour later finds them exiting the showroom through the children’s section. The restaurant is also there, near the top of the stairs that lead down into the marketplace, as Sam calls it. Castiel has a slightly better understanding of why people like Ikea now. He found it _fascinating_ to see how all the different furniture can be laid out in makeshift rooms, and how many pieces of furniture have hidden storage in them to make better use of small spaces.

The restaurant itself is interesting too and Castiel is almost tempted to try something – but he can save that for his next trip to Ikea. For now, Dean is slumped down in a corner with his hands in the pockets of his coat and his head leaned back against the wall. He has his eyes closed and, to anyone else, probably looks like he’s sleeping.

Castiel knows that he likely has a hand on either a gun or a knife, and he’s most definitely not sleeping. The lines of his shoulders are too tense. Dean would never drop his guard in public like this. The only time he can remotely sleep easily when they’re not at the bunker is when he’s had a lot to drink and essentially blacks out. All other times are – well, Castiel wouldn’t consider it restful. He has too many nightmares for that.

As soon as they come to a stop in front of him, Dean opens his eyes and fixes them both with a glare. “Are you done now?”

“Not quite.” Sam grins and Castiel raises an eyebrow at him. “We still have to do the walk through the marketplace.”

Dean groans and sits forward. “You’re joking right?” He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and thumbs it open. After a moment, he turns the screen to them. “Look! I know exactly which shelf in the warehouse the pieces for the dresser are. We don’t _need_ to go through the marketplace!”

“Yeah, but Cas might see something he likes.” Sam puts an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and jostles him a little. “You wouldn’t deny him the joys of a new toothbrush holder, or lampshade, would you?”

Castiel hums to himself. “I suppose I could do with a new wastebasket in my bedroom. I’m currently just using a cardboard box.”

“A cardboard –? Cas!” Dean is on his feet in an instant. “Why are you using a cardboard _box_?”

“Because it was what I found and it gets the job done?” He shrugs, not seeing the problem with it or even why he should decorate his bedroom. If his slow seduction eventually pays off, Castiel fully plans to move into Dean’s room the first chance he gets – though Dean isn’t actually aware of this plan.

Dean grabs him by the arm and starts marching him towards the stairs. “What _else_ don’t you have?”

By the time they make it through the marketplace, Castiel has a new garbage can, a new set of sheets because how dare he not have a spare set of his own, three separate caddies and a support bar to hang in the shower so they can all sort their bathroom supplies, and a cute picture of a lounging cat that he had found to hang over his bed. The picture is literally the only thing Castiel picked out himself. The rest was dropped into the cart Dean had grabbed for them at the bottom of the stairs.

When they reach the warehouse, Dean leaves Castiel to push the cart. “I’ve got the flatbed.”

“What exactly are we getting again?” Sam adds a couple succulents to the cart and falls into step next to Castiel. “I know you wanted furniture, but what exactly was it again?”

“I want one of them big shelving things.” Dean pulls a flatbed cart away from the wall and starts maneuvering it down the aisle. He guides it with one hand a foot while accessing his phone again. “The Kallax something or whatever. And Cas needs a new dresser. His drawers don’t open fully and the bottom one looks like it a bunch of mice made lunch out of it.”

Sam looks to Castiel in surprise and he nods in agreement. “It’s true. Dean glued the bottom drawer closed so I wouldn’t use it.”

A brief look of horror passes over Sam’s face. “Do we have a _mouse_ problem?”

“Not anymore we don’t.” Dean flashes them a triumphant grin over his shoulder before returning to navigating through the aisles.

When they find the Kallax unit, Sam helps Dean to move heavy boxes off the shelf and onto the flatbed. Castiel watches closely but stays out of the way of both them and the other customers pushing their own carts around. Dean also adds a few smaller pieces to the stack he’s made on the flatbed, explaining that they’re drawer and cabinet inserts so he can store even more stuff.

“I feel like we haven’t yet asked _why_ you want this?”

“Organization and display, Cas.” Dean is overly pleased with himself as he carefully adds four sets of the drawers to the pile. “This is all going in my work room.”

Castiel doesn’t bother asking further. Dean’s work room is almost as precious to him as his bedroom. He takes the utmost care in keeping it clean and organized for when he’s preparing what weapons they’re bringing on hunts and for cleaning guns, knives, and whatever else they keep in the trunk of the Impala. It’s _his_ space, and he’s very protective of it – to the point that Castiel feels weirdly special when he’s allowed entry.

“Alright. Let’s go find your dresser!” Dean gives them both a bright smile before leaning his weight into the flatbed’s handles to get it moving.

He exhibits the same delight that Castiel witnessed in the other customers, though he only did so _now_. Is it the anticipation of being able to put together one’s own furniture? Or perhaps the price? Sam had tried to explain it while they were walking through the showroom, but Castiel had been distracted by a chaise couch that had storage under the chaise and a drawer under the couch that hid a pull-up bed.

This whole store is _fascinating_.

* * *

 

“I was an Angel of the _Lord_.” Castiel grumbles under his breath, glaring hatefully at the series of wooden dowels that he’s carefully hammered into the _wrong holes_ and has snapped _two_ in his attempts to pull them out with pliers. “I don’t need an instruction manual to put together a _dresser_.”

Dean hums from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. He’s been sitting patiently, waiting for Castiel to accept his assistance in putting the dresser together. But this contraption is _clearly_ from the depths of Hell and put on this Earth for the sole purpose of infuriating him. The instructions were such simple pictures and Castiel had glanced through them until he was sure he had an understanding of how this was going.

He used to be an infinite wavelength of celestial intent and he’s been _bested_ by a _dresser_.

“Well, Cas, you’re Human now.” Dean laughs and something hits him in the back of the head. Castiel twists to find that he had thrown the manual at him. “And us schmucks need instructions to assemble shitty Ikea furniture.”

“ _I_ _don’t need it_.” Castiel glares at him briefly before going back to pulling the dowels out.

Another laugh echoes through the room. “And what happens when you break this completely, huh? You going to go buy another set?”

“ _Yes_.” He is well aware that he’s being ridiculous, and stubborn, but he is determined to do this on his own. And if Dean weren’t in the room, Castiel would maybe lower himself to using the manual. But he won’t while he’s here, because Dean would never let him live it down.

“I could _help you_ , y’know?”

Castiel shakes his head and points with his pliers. “Don’t you _dare_!”

They already put together the shelving unit in Dean’s work space. That went incredibly quickly because it was fairly simple. Dean was able to get things started with just a glance at the manual. Hubris made Castiel think that he could do the same, but that is clearly not the case. Luckily, Sam isn’t here to see him fail. He’s still in Dean’s work room, tasked with the job of putting the drawers and cabinets together.

Dean props his chin up on his palm, elbow balanced on one of his knees. “We’re going to be here all night if you don’t let me help you.”

“I can _do this_.” He grits his teeth and plucks a few more of the wooden dowels free.

After a few minutes, through which Castiel continues muttering to himself and swapping the dowel for the appropriate screw, Dean sits in silence and watches him. It’s when he has one of the grips of the pliers held between his teeth while he screws the anchor in when Dean laughs again.

“God, you’re cute.”

Castiel goes still and lifts his head. He glances over his shoulder to find Dean flushed bright red and staring at him. Dean looks away the moment Castiel meets his eyes. Was he not supposed to hear that? It _was_ fairly quiet.

Dean clears his throat and sits up straight, already making to get off the bed. “I – uh – I’m gonna go get a beer. You want a beer? I’ll get you a beer.”

He all but sprints from the room; practically leaping over the pieces of the dresser that lay around in piles that only make sense to Castiel. Dean is gone before he can say anything in response. Castiel stares after him, realizing that his jaw has dropped only when the pliers fall into his lap and poke him sharply in the thigh.

Cute. _Cute_. Dean – _Dean_! – called him _cute_. Is his slow plan of seduction finally paying off? Castiel has been working at it for _years_ and Dean just called him _cute_. That – that’s cause for celebration. He should be getting up and following Dean. He should corner him in the kitchen, stop him from drowning himself in beer, and speak lowly into his ear that _he’s_ the cute one. If Castiel did that, he’s sure Dean would blush so hard he might likely explode.

As much as he would love to do that, he remains where he is. He can tell Dean that he’s also cute when he comes back. In the meantime, he should make use of his time alone. With Dean gone, he can now reference the manual without being mocked for giving in when he so stubbornly didn’t want to.

He’ll get this dresser put together, and when he’s done – Oh, maybe he’ll kiss Dean up against it? That would be nice.

**END**


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Castiel, Crowley, Raphael, Sam Winchester
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - a/b/o, canon divergent sorta, Alpha!Cas, Omega!Dean, Godstiel, angst, loads of it
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _themadkatter13: Small angsty omegaverse idea to dip your toes in could be already-mated Dean/Cas with omega!Dean having to come to terms with his mate alpha!Cas going Godstiel._

**PROMPT #20**

Dean grabs Bobby’s arm as he staggers, other hand snapping up to clamp over the back of his neck – over the bond mark that _burns_. It radiates an _ache_ through his whole body and he blinks away tears, knees feeling weak as every instinct he has starts screaming at him that something is horribly, terribly, _impossibly_ wrong.

Given the life they lead, he should have expected this at some point. But Dean still isn’t ready for it to come out of nowhere. He thought that he would at least _be there_ , but Cas is nowhere in sight. His Alpha isn’t here. From the top of the stairs, Dean can see the whole damn room and _Cas isn’t here_. It’s Crowley and Raphael and no Cas. No Alpha.

What the _fuck_ do they do to his Alpha? Where is he? Why is –

Another sharp pulse of pain throbs in the bond mark. A choked sob catches in Dean’s throat and he goes to his knees. Bobby tries keeping him upright, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing they can do to stop what’s about to happen. Crowley is going to finish the ritual and open the gate, and Dean is going to sit here and cry and scream because what else can he do when the bond to his Alpha is splintering apart. He can _feel it_ happening.

“Get it _together_ , Dean.” Bobby hisses, gripping his arm in an attempt to pull him back up on his feet. “I don’t know what the hell you think yer doing, but this ain’t the time to go to pieces.”

A Beta wouldn’t understand. A Beta like Bobby can’t form a bond with an Alpha or an Omega. Can never understand how _in sync_ you feel with your bond mate. Two minds, two bodies, one soul. Mating with Cas made him feel – there aren’t even words for it. But, for the first time in his life, Dean didn’t hate being an Omega. Being with Cas made him feel _okay_ with his second gender.

And that’s over. Gone. Cas is _gone_. His Alpha is _dead_. There’s no other explanation for why the bond is breaking. Crowley betrayed him – maybe he’s been in league with Raphael this whole time – and they killed him. The body isn’t here, but Dean wouldn’t put it past Raphael to have just snuffed Cas from existence with the snap of a finger.

But Dean was here. He and Bobby – they got here _before_ the bond broke. If the bond broke the moment Cas died, then Dean should have been here to see it, right? He could have _done something_. But there’s nothing – nothing – nothing.

A gaping empty _void_ is swallowing everything inside of him. It’s going to leave him a hollow shell and all Dean can do is squeeze his eyes shut to try to keep the tears at bay. But he’s already failed at that too. They’re streaking down his cheeks, cutting through the dirt that came with having to crawl out of the Impala after the cloud of demons flipped it.

He can’t breathe – can’t think – Crowley’s going to open the gates to Purgatory. He’s going to steal all the souls there and he’s going to bring about the apocalypse _again_ with Raphael at his side. Dean’s never going to see his Alpha again. Never going to have Cas hold him tight again; kiss his temples again; murmur sweet nothings again; _love him again_. He’s gone – the bond is broken and his Alpha is _gone_.

They never even got the chance to sort out the shit storm of Cas going behind their backs and working with Crowley. Dean was so angry – so _betrayed_ – and now he’ll never get to resolve that. Cas is dead – _bond broken_ – and will never get to explain why he did it. They’ll never be able to try and set things right. His _Alpha_ –

Dean’s next breath catches in his throat. He lifts his head, the world swimming in a haze of tears, and breathes. The bond is shattered, but that scent –?

“You said it perfectly.”

That _voice_.

“All you needed was this.”

The thump of an empty jar, stained with blood, is muted by the thump of Dean’s heartbeat in his ears.

“I see.” Crowley hums and crosses the room to the wall. “And we’ve been working with –” He swipes his finger through the blood sigil and licks it. “Dog blood. Naturally.”

“Enough of these games, Castiel!” Raphael snaps, the female vessel not doing anything to soften his usual prickly attitude. He must have taken an Alpha host. “Give us the blood.”

Crowley shakes his head. “You – Game’s over.” The look he gives Raphael is not nearly as full of pity as the one he gives to Dean. “His jar’s empty.” It’s just a brief glance before he turns back to Cas. “So, Castiel, how’d your ritual go? Better than ours, I’ll bet.”

This shouldn’t be happening. This _can’t_ be happening.

Cas doesn’t look at him. Not even once. He closes his eyes and that angel glow cracks along his skin. It brightens in intensity, filling the room. Dean can’t look away and Bobby slaps a hand over his eyes, shielding them both.

The light fades and Cas breathes out slowly. “You can’t imagine what it’s like.” He brings a hand to his chest and presses lightly. “They’re all inside me. Millions upon millions of souls.”

“Sounds sexy.” Crowley clears his throat and takes a short step back. “Exit stage Crowley.”

Between one blink and the next, he’s gone. Raphael, on the other hand, remains rooted to the spot – much like the two of them. Dean can’t move, though. His legs won’t hold him up and that goddamn empty _ache_ is still consuming him from the inside out. Bobby’s hand is a vice on his shoulder where it dropped after the light faded.

Cas pivots slowly to face Raphael. “Now, what’s the matter, Raphael? Somebody clip your wings?”

Even from where they stand at the top of the stairs, Dean can see how Raphael swallows. “Castiel, please. You let the demon go, but not your own brother?”

“The demon I have plans for. You on the other hand…” There’s an eerie kind of serenity surrounding Cas as he lifts his hand. With a simple snap of his fingers, Raphael explodes. Gone. The only sign that he was there is the tinkling ring of an angel blade dropping to the ground.

Slowly, Cas lowers his hand. Then – _finally_ – he turns to face them where they’re still at the top of the stairs. “So, you see, I saved you.”

Dean can’t breathe. The weight of his Alpha’s eyes on him is different. It holds none of the warmth he’s used to seeing there. And his scent – Cas’s scent is still there but it’s muted. Lightning and thunder and grass after a storm. But distant. Covered with something sickly. Twisted and musty and it makes Dean’s nose wrinkle because it’s _wrong_. It’s not the scent of his Alpha. It’s not _their_ scent – the one that mingled when their bond was made.

“Sure thing, Cas.” Bobby speaks from somewhere off to his left. “Thank you.”

Cas walks forward, steps slow and easy. He hasn’t looked away from Dean. Hasn’t _blinked_. “You doubted me, fought against me, but I was right all along.”

No, he was wrong. So wrong. What has he done to himself? Dean thought it was Crowley and Raphael that killed Cas. But it wasn’t them. It was Cas. Because this – this _creature_ putting its foot on the first step leading up to the landing where Dean can’t fucking _move_ – this isn’t Cas. This isn’t his Alpha – his bond mate. Not anymore.

“Okay, Cas, you were.” Bobby keeps his tone light and calm, clearly trying _not_ to make themselves the next target. “We’re sorry. Now let’s just defuse you, okay?”

Cas stops with his foot on the second step. “What do you mean?”

“You –” Dean’s voice breaks on the word, cracking around the syllable. There are still tears running down his face and his lips are salty when he licks them and tries again. “You’re full of nuke. It’s not safe.” He drags his hand off his neck to point at the wall and the sigil there. The lack of pressure over his bond mark sings loneliness through him. “S-so, before the eclipse ends, let’s get them souls back to where they belong.”

“Oh no, they belong with me.” Cas shakes his head before taking the next step up the stairs.

It’s been a very, _very_ long time since Dean has wanted to run from his Alpha. That was back before they were friends, long before they were lovers, and longer still since they were bond mates. The bond is broken now. Cas isn’t Cas and Dean – He must be giving off distressed Omega pheromones like crazy and Cas isn’t reacting to them _at all_. He really isn’t his Alpha anymore, is he?

“No, Cas.” Dean shakes his head slowly, tongue tripping over words. “It’s it-it’s scrambling your brain.”

There’s only a few more steps left before Cas will be on the landing with them. “No, I’m not finished yet. Raphael had many followers, and I must punish them all severely.”

He reaches the top of the stairs and Dean cranes his neck to stare up at him. There have been times when he was in this position in front of Cas before, but they were much happier and _much_ sexier times.

“Listen to me.” Dean tries to keep the tremor out of his voice, but it’s hard. He’s _terrified_ and his broken heart is breaking all the more. “Listen, I know there’s a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we – we’re _bond mates_.” He lifts a hand and hates how it shakes as he reaches out for Cas. “I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times. And I – I love you. If that means anything to you… _Please Alpha_.”

Even the desperate plea of his Omega doesn’t get Cas to react. He stares down at Dean with that serene little half-smile still in place and doesn’t stop him from taking his hand; even curling his fingers around it to squeeze back. “I’ve lost Lisa, and Ben, and now I’ve lost Sam.” His throat is closing up and Dean chokes around it. “Don’t – don’t make me lose you too. You don’t need this kind of juice anymore, Cas. Get rid of it before it kills you – before it kills us all.”

“You’re just saying that because I won.” Cas tilts his head slightly in a familiar gesture that seems so foreign on him now. He takes a deep breath through his nose, scenting the air. “Because you’re _afraid_.”

Cas slowly drops into a crouch, lowering himself to look Dean in the eye. He lifts their joined hands and looks at it for a long moment. “You’re not my family, Dean.” It feels like it takes an eternity for him to let go, letting Dean’s hand drop between them. “I have no family.”

The ache intensifies and Dean closes his eyes. Squeezing them shut against the new flood of tears. He has no control over them – over anything. What did he do to make his Alpha hate him so much that he would willingly break their bond? Things have been rough between them lately but – but Dean didn’t think they weren’t going to be able to fix it. They always have before.

“Don’t bother, Sam.”

Dean opens his eyes to find Cas still looking at him, but his head is turned just enough that he could be speaking over his shoulder. Down on the floor, in the red splotch that used to be Raphael, stands Sam. He looks worse for the wear, but he has Raphael’s angel blade in his hand.

Cas brings his hands to cup Dean’s face. His thumbs rub under his eyes, brushing away the tears. “The angel blade won’t work, because I’m not an angel anymore.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I’m your new God. A _better_ one.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead, lips moving as he murmurs against the skin only loud enough for him to hear. “Now Heaven and Hell won’t _dare_ to touch you, my Omega.”

“But, why?” Dean hates that he sounds so pathetic; voice trembling because his Alpha isn’t making any _sense_. They’re not family and their bond is broken, but Cas still calls him Omega? “Our bond is –”

“Broken.” Cas confirms as he stands; zero hesitation and zero remorse. “I have determined that to be safest for you. All that I have done and will do has been to protect you.”

And then he’s gone. His Alpha is _gone_ and Dean doubles over, choking on a silent sob.  

**END**


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  General, Alternate Universe - modern, divorced!Cas, strangers to ... sorta friends?, 
> 
> **Prompt** :  
>  _monarchmish: Destiel hiker AU. Cas just wants to be alone. He decided to take a few months to hike the Pacific Crest Trail as a journey to find himself but got stuck at the very beginning of the journey with a loud, annoying, and inexperienced hiker named Dean._

**PROMPT #21**

Castiel is just finishing laying out his sleeping bag inside his tiny single-person tent when he hears the whistling. He groans and allows his head to hang for a moment. It’s the newbie. It has to be. There hasn’t been anyone else on the trail since he started hiking from the Mexican border early this morning. He was halfway through the day when he came across the newbie just puttering along.

Since he’s been an avid hiker his entire life (to the point that his honeymoon was actually hiking the Appalachian Trail), Castiel can spot a new hiker from a mile away. In this case, he’s pretty sure that this is the newbie’s first hike _and_ he’s never hiked a day in his life. His backpack is way too big and he’s carrying way too much stuff. It looks like he walked into an outdoor outfitters, said he wanted to go hiking, and the salesperson took advantage and sold him a bunch of unnecessary items.

Normally Castiel doesn’t mind new hikers. In fact, he welcomes them and has always gone out of his way to help them if he spots them on a hike. It’s better that he help them than risk seeing their faces on “Missing Person” posters in the future because of something he could have helped them avoid. But this time around he just – he didn’t have it in him. Castiel had hiked right past the newbie with his significantly lighter pack with nothing more than a wave.

Maybe if he was in a better mood, he might have slowed down and tried to talk to him; figure out just how new to hiking he is. But Castiel just isn’t in the mood for dealing with people. He wants to be _alone_.

It’s been less than a month since he decided to do this hike. He put in for a leave of absence from work and got it fast tracked because he’s an exemplary employee and it helps that he’s pretty high up on the totem pole. Truthfully, they probably approved it because literally _everyone_ knows that he’s technically currently between houses after a particularly messy divorce. What little possession he actually still has are currently in storage with the more important stuff stored at his brother’s house – which is where Castiel will temporarily be couch surfing while apartment hunting once he’s done the hike.

After nearly a _year_ of legal disputes over every little thing (most of which he didn’t even care about), Castiel is just so _done_ with other people. He wanted – no, _needed_ – time to himself and what better way than hiking the entirety of the Pacific Crest Trail on his own? At the longest, the trail can take up to five months to complete. It was the best way he could think to forget the harpy that insisted on quibbling over nothing. As an added bonus, this trail has been on his bucket list for a long time.

“Oh, hey!” The newbie hiker stops at the edge of the clearing where he’s decided to make camp. He waits until Castiel crawls out of the tent before pulling one of his headphones earbuds out. “How come you’re stopping here? There’s still lots of time left to the day!”

Castiel glances at his watch and then at the horizon where the sun is just kissing the edge of it. He shakes his head and crosses his legs, sitting on the tarp that he keeps his pack wrapped in during the hike. He likes this tarp because it has a drawstring to secure around the pack _and_ a hood to pull over his head when it starts raining. “It’s still April and the sun sets early, and quickly. It’s not safe to be looking for and setting up a campsite in the dark. I’ve also hiked roughly twenty miles today and it’s not good to exhaust yourself.”

The newbie frowns slightly and glances around too. “Those are – uh – good points you’re making.” He shifts on his feet, one hand fidgeting with his dangling earbud. “Could I – Is it alright for me to camp here tonight too?”

“Of course.” Castiel gestures at the open space around him. “Pick wherever you’d like.”

Newbie grins and steps off the path. He unclips his pack from over his chest and waist, and shrugs it off with a relieved groan – one that is far louder than Castiel cares for.. “They never told me I’d be carrying fifty pounds on my back.”

“Your pack should never be more than a third of your body weight.” Castiel leans back on his hands and watches as the newbie unclips his sleeping bag from the bottom of his pack, pulls off the protective cover, and unrolls it on the ground. It’s surprising that he doesn’t have a tent. “It’s not great to have it over thirty-five pounds and, ideally, you want it to be more around twenty or twenty-five pounds.”

“You sound like an instructional video.” Newbie sits on his sleeping bag and un-clips the flap at the top of his pack. “You hike a lot?”

Castiel nods and reaches back into his tent to get his bear canister and the high protein meal he rationed out for his first evening of hiking. “At least once a summer ever since I was old enough to carry my own pack.” He shrugs and twists the key into the canister’s lid to pop the top. “I haven’t done the PCT before, but so far it’s going fairly well.”

Newbie whistles a long, impressed note as he pulls out his own bear canister and a bottle of water. “Damn, that’s awesome. This is my first time hiking.”

“And you’re doing it _alone_?” That’s basically suicide as far as Castiel is concerned.

“I have GPS.” He points at the watch on his wrist. “And I did a lot of research before leaving, including arranging check in times with family back home. Plus I trained for, like, six months at the gym so I’m not horrifically out of shape for this.”

Castiel’s divorce was finalized a month ago. Regardless of whether or not any affection or attraction for his ex-wife died out long before divorce proceedings started a year prior, he still should _not_ be subtly checking out the newbie’s body, or privately agreeing that he is definitely _not_ out of shape. They’re far enough South that they can get away with shorts, t-shirts, and windbreakers and the newbie is certainly toned. And he doesn’t look _that_ put out to have been carrying such a heavy bag.

“I’m Dean, by the way.” Newbie gives a little wave before opening his own bear canister.

“Castiel.” He bites into a protein bar that he’ll be washing down with some trail mix. “Why did you pick the PCT to hike as your first trail? You might have trained, but you’re still inexperienced. It would have been wiser to pick something shorter and less difficult.”

Dean shrugs and pulls out a Ziplock bag of chips and beef jerky. “Dare.”

He’s ashamed that his jaw actually drops. “You – you’re risking your life on a _dare_?”

“Yup!” He grins and pops a chip into his mouth. “I was watching some boring ass Youtube video with a friend about someone who documented the highlights of their hike along this trail. They ended up giving up half-way and, after I made a couple comments, Charlie called me out as an asshole and said I wouldn’t even be able to _start_ the damn thing.” He spreads his arms wide with a loud laugh. “Here I am, proving her wrong!”

Oh dear God. Castiel just barely refrains dropping his face into his hands. It’s people like this that he _hates_ encountering on the trail. It’s people like this that add to the dangers statistics. Hiking _isn’t_ dangerous if you’re well prepared and don’t do the trails you’re not experienced enough to do. Like hiking the entirety of the PCT with _no experience_ and _alone_. Dean is going to die on this trail or give up within the first month if Castiel doesn’t help him.

With a loud sigh, Castiel puts his protein bar aside and holds his hands out. “Let me see what you’ve got in that monstrosity you’re carrying.”

Dean pauses eating with a piece of beef jerky sticking out of his mouth. “Huh?” He looks at his bag and then back to Castiel before subtly hugging it closer to his chest. “You’re not gonna steal anything, are you. Coz’ I should warn you, I’m packing.” And, to prove his point, he unzips his windbreaker to reveal an honest-to-God _chest holster_ and the hand gun strapped into it.

Okay, never mind. Apparently _Castiel_ is the one who’s going to be dying on this trail.

“I got my carry permit if you wanna see it.” Dean rocks to the side and starts trying to work his wallet out of his pocket. “And I promise that I’m not some psycho that’s gonna shoot you in the middle of the night or something.”

Castiel shakes his head and tries not to show that he’s contemplating packing up and finding a new campsite very far away from here. “I’m also aware of the knife you’re carrying on your hip.” He had spotted the sheath on Dean’s belt when he had passed him earlier in the day. There’s a similar one just inside the opening of his tent where he can grab it easily should he need it.

Dean shrugs and zips back up again. “Always be prepared, y’know?” He picks his bag up and passes it over to Castiel. “Plus I used to hunt with my dad and my uncle all the time. I’d rather have them with me than find myself in a situation where I’d need ‘em and not have ‘em.”

“That rule doesn’t carry over to _all_ hiking equipment.” Castiel hums as he opens Dean’s bag and starts pulling things out. He arranges them carefully next to him so he can put them back in the same order – and then quickly realizes that the bag is _not_ packed properly and Dean will ruin his back if he keeps packing it like this. “Sometimes it’s better to _not_ carry them and make do without. Especially with the stuff you’ll only need for certain parts of the hike. For those, you can usually pick up and discard them along the way.”

“Like what?” Dean leans forward and props his elbow on his knee, cheek resting against his fist.

“Well the desert gear you’re not actually going to need until you reach the desert.” Castiel points at the extra collapsible water reservoir and the ankle-high gaiters that will protect Dean from getting sand in his shoes. Towards the bottom of the bag he pulls a set of microspikes and an ice axe. “And you definitely won’t be needing these until you reach the mountain leg of the trail.”

There’s also a sleeping pad and [bivy sack ](https://www.rei.com/media/b2da5a78-d061-47e0-8f1b-725cce448994?size=784x588)resting in the bottom of the bag and Castiel pulls those out. He tosses the sleeping pad to Dean. “Blow that up. You’re going to need it tonight.”

“I forgot I had this.” Dean pulls the tight roll out from the protective sleeve and laughs. “Probably could’ve used it last night.”

With such a heavy pack, it’s no surprise that Dean has already been on the trail for a day. It’s going to take him around eight months to complete the PCT if he only averages around ten miles a day, and he’s _definitely_ going to quit if that’s the case.

God, did no one teach him how he should pack? Did he not do any research or does he just not care? It actually _hurts_ Castiel to see how much he’s carrying – and apparently plans on carrying for the next several months along the trail.

Castiel also leaves the bivy out and shoves everything else haphazardly back into the pack. “We’re going to repack this in the morning so the weight is better distributed. If you leave it as is, you’re going to ruin your back within the first week of the hike.”

Dean pauses with the nozzle of his sleeping pad at his lips. “Really?”

“And when we reach Mount Laguna and its post office in the next day or so, you’re going to ship all the stuff you _don’t need_ to the leg of the hike where you _will_ need it.” Castiel ties off the pack and sets it aside. “It’s also going to rain tonight, so you’ll want your bivy to keep you dry.”

“It’s going to rain?” Dean tilts his head back to look at the sky, painted in pinks and reds as the sun starts dipping below the horizon. “How can you tell?”

“Experience.” Castiel shrugs and gets up to start putting the bivy together. It’s a much smaller version of a single person tent than what he has. Technically it’s not even a tent. It’s a bivouac sack with just enough frame to keep one end up and off the camper’s head while still shielding them from the elements. “You can tell by the moisture in the air. We’ll probably see some rain towards the middle of the night.”

Dean looks back down, but this time his eyes are wide and mystified. “That’s _awesome_. Can you teach me how to do that?”

“I believe I just did.” He props the bivy at an angle to his own tent where Dean’s head will be adjacent to his own. “You’ll get better at it the more time you spend outdoors.”

After the sleeping pad is blown up, Castiel fits it into the bivy and shoves Dean’s massive pack all the way down at the foot. They shake his sleeping bag out and slide it in after that. Dean didn’t have a tarp, but his bag does have a protective cover and they spread that out in front of his bivy as a place for him to sit until they retire for the night.

There’s no official fire pit at this campsite, and Castiel doesn’t much feel like gathering tinder in the growing dark, so he grabs the collapsible solar light he keeps strapped to the outside of his pack and sets it up between them. It’s not very bright, but it’s better than nothing.

Dean, unsurprisingly, is _very_ chatty. And young. He’s nearly ten years younger than Castiel; has a younger brother who’s studying to be a lawyer; is studying mechanical engineering himself, and put his degree on hold to hike the PCT. In contrast, Castiel talks very little and only answers questions about himself when pointedly asked.

Castiel checks his watch and poorly muffles a yawn. “I know it’s not very late, but I’m going to turn in now.” Though with a stranger sleeping so close, he’ll likely not drift off that easily. And he’ll be sleeping with his knife in hand.

“Smart thinking.” Dean stretches his arms above his head, giving a jaw-cracking yawn of his own. “Will you wake me up in the morning? I think the only reason I didn’t sleep in this morning is because the ground was uncomfortable.”

“Yes, I’ll wake you.” Castiel shakes out his pack tarp and folds it up. “We’ll have breakfast, repack your bag, and head out. I under-packed under purpose, so I can take some of the weight off your back until we get to Mount Laguna.”

Depending on their pace, they might make it by tomorrow evening. He doesn’t plan on pushing himself for twenty miles a day. It’s just that he always tends to start out strong on his hikes and then slow down towards the middle. Having Dean with him will probably slow him down, but it won’t really affect his schedule any.

Castiel pauses in the process of tucking the tarp under his pack at the foot of his own tent. Oh. He’s been talking like he’s going to continue the trail with Dean, hasn’t he? He wanted to do this hike _alone_ and he has no idea when he started talking as if they were hiking partners. Dean doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’s _grinning_ when Castiel glances at him.

“Thanks for helping me out, Cas.” Dean’s smile softens, almost turning shy in the soft glow from the lantern. “I really appreciate it.”

Hopefully it’s too dark for him to see the blush that Castiel can feel heating his cheeks. He clears his throat and waves his hand slightly. “If I don’t help you out, you’ll never win the dare.”

That gets him a laugh and Dean crawls into his bivy chuckling to himself. “Promise me that you won’t tell Charlie that you’re helping me?”

“I think that’s a safe promise to make.”

Dean snorts and settles on his belly on top of his sleeping bag. “Thanks, Cas. See you in the morning!”

“Goodnight, Dean.” Castiel zips himself into his tent, part of the screen revealed at the top so he can continue to get fresh air. He can hear Dean shuffling around in his bivy before it gets quiet.

This isn’t what he planned for his wind down from the divorce, but he’s not nearly as annoyed with Dean as he was early. An evening of company was – well, it was nice. Castiel can’t remember the last time he just sat and _talked_ with someone (even if he didn’t do most of the talking). It’s been far too long since he had _companionship_ and he could see himself getting used to it.

Maybe having Dean along as a hiking partner won’t be such a bad idea after all?

**END**


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  General, Alternate Universe - D&D, Sorcerer!Sam, Paladin!Dean, Wizard!Castiel, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _Chewbaccaaah: D &D AU – Dean is a Paladin, Sam a Sorcerer, and Castiel a Wizard. Due to an unfortunate curse, Sam is currently a small houseplant. Dean hires his longtime friend, Castiel, to fix the curse because this isn’t something he can fix with a good stabbing. All Sam can do is wave his leaves._

**PROMPT #22**

“Don’t worry, Sammy.” Dean crosses his arms on the table and hunches forward to rest his chin on them so he’s somewhat eye-to-eye with the small potted plant sitting in the middle of the table. “Cas will be here soon and we’ll get this all sorted out.”

There’s no breeze in their stuffy room, but the curving leaves of the plant wave slightly. As far as Dean can tell, even in this form Sam has some ability to communicate and understand what goes on around him. It’s better than nothing, certainly.

Trust him to try and polymorph a Wizard into only-the-gods-know-what. And of _course_ the Wizard actually had a counter spell prepared. It was reflected right back at him and Dean had to finish the rest of the fight _all on his own_ while doing his best to protect a gods-be-damned _potted plant_.

Plants are fragile and Dean doesn’t _dare_ take Sam anywhere outside of the inn. What if he dropped him and broke the pot? What if a strong wind bent his leaves? It makes Dean’s insides sour just thinking about it. Sam is _much_ safer here where they can wait in relative peace for Cas to arrive.

Dean would rather deal with a stab wound, disease, or poison any day. What magic that has been blessed to him by his god, Kiri-Jolith, is not nearly enough to reverse this kind spell of spell – at least not yet. His healing spell, _Lay on Hands_ , can heal but not for something like this. He hasn’t been a Paladin long enough to have learned _Cleansing Touch_ so that he can end curses.

Curses might be beyond him, but they are _right_ up Cas’s alley.

He hired a raven to carry a note as quick as its wings could take it to Cas yesterday. Those particular ravens are enchanted to fly faster than anyone. Cas is also almost _obscenely_ powerful (in Dean’s opinion) and it shouldn’t take him long to get here. Dean has seen his spell book and it is ridiculously stuffed with spells. He has to have teleportation circles written down in there _somewhere_ , right? How else has he gotten around so quickly when Dean has called for him before?

And there is _zero_ doubt in Dean’s mind that Cas will come help. He always comes whenever Dean calls, and they really should find a better way to keep in contact than _enchanted ravens_. Not only does it cost him gold coins ( _Gold_! Not even silver or copper. Actual _gold_!) every time he wants to send a message, but it takes _so long_. Cas just needs to stop being such a loner and start traveling with them. He claims it’s because working alone helps him study and build his spell book, but Dean really would prefer having him with them.

Things are just more _fun_ with Cas around. Dean likes his sense of humour, and the stories he tells, and they just – they have a good time, okay? It doesn’t hurt that he looks _damn_ good in his robes with all the pouches and bags he wears, and Dean maybe gets a little too distracted by how he holds his staff and – yeah. _Yeah_. He definitely wants Cas around for more reasons that he’s willing to admit.

Dean sighs, a little too wistfully, and Sam waves his leaves a little harder. “I have no idea what you’re saying but it better be _where the heck is Cas_.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. Dean stumbles to his feet and grabs his sword from the sheath hanging off the back of his chair. He’s in a tunic and breeches with his armor stacked carefully together at the end of his bed. With a scrap of paper prepared to throw down and cast _Shield of Faith_ if he needs it to boost his defenses, he approaches the door.

“Who is it?”

“Hello, Dean.” That rough voice is unmistakable. Grinning, Dean pulls the door open to find Cas leaning on his staff. He is, however, practically _naked_ in that he’s wearing a simply tunic and pants. His robes and bags are all missing, but he holds up the letter that Dean had sent by raven. “You called?”

Dean steps out of the way to let him into the room, resisting the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. It’s been a while since he’s seen Cas and he looks as good as always. Cas gives the room a cursory glance before leaning his staff up against the wall. It probably means absolutely nothing that it’s propped next to Dean’s armor at the end of _his_ bed, but it still gives Dean a bit of a thrill. The sheer _magic_ surrounding Cas always makes his skin tingle – or maybe that’s just from being around Cas in general, because holy crap Dean has had it _bad_ for him since they first met.

Cas turns slowly, surveying the whole room before facing the plant. “And hello to you too, Sam.” He takes Dean’s seat at the small table and folds his hands together. “You look well.”

The leaves wave a little harder and Dean covers his mouth to muffle a laugh. Cas tilts a smile his way before leaning over to pull the pot closer. He turns it around multiple times, humming to himself. “Yes, this is a problem. I can see why you reached out to me for assistance.”

“Can you turn him back to normal?” Dean drags the other chair around to the same side of the table and drops into it. He’s not _quite_ sitting next to Cas, but it’s much closer than sitting opposite him. Just because Sam’s life is in danger doesn’t mean he can’t – uh – flirt. Wow, that makes him sound like such a _bad brother_.

Cas touches the tip of one of the leaves and it shivers slightly. “I believe a simple _dispel magic_ spell will fix this.” He stands again and starts for the door. “I have to get my spell book.”

“You didn’t bring it?” That’s not like Cas. He’s usually better prepared than this.

“Of course I did, but I left it down the hall. I rented a _room_.” Cas pauses at the door and Dean tries _very hard_ not to read into the look directed his way, because Cas has never – not once – given him any hint that he’s attracted to Dean too.

And then he’s gone; out of the room and leaving Dean sitting there with his jaw dropped. He swallows thickly and glances at Sam. “Do you – uh – What do you think he meant by that?”

Sam waves in answer, leaves shaking almost angrily. They make a rustling sound and Dean props his cheek on his fist, watching him wiggle. He’s still practically vibrating in his pot by the time Cas comes back with his spell book. Dean gets up and out of the way as Cas puts it down on the table.

“How long will it take?”

“Only a few minutes.” Cas shrugs and starts flipping through the pages, humming thoughtfully to himself while he does it. “Then he’ll be back to normal and you’ll be able to hit the road again.” He pauses and glances at Dean. “I can’t imagine you enjoy having your horse stabled for very long.”

The fact that Cas knows how much Dean loves his horse makes his insides squirm in the best of ways. He takes a deep breath and smiles at him. “We’ll probably head out tomorrow. You want to come with us this time?”

“I’ll consider it, but I think you should try and convince me over dinner.” Cas finds the page he’s looking for and runs his finger down the scribbled words, looking the spell over. “Changing shape via magic is draining on the subject. Sam will likely be very tired afterwards. Once we help him settle, you should come join me for dinner in my room.”

Dean blinks once, twice, and then his brain pretty much stops functioning altogether. The fact that he doesn’t immediately see Kiri-Jolith convinces him that he’s _not_ actually dead. He still can’t quite understand what’s happening though. Did Cas really just ask him to dinner? Dinner _alone_ together in his _room_? They’ve had dinner together many times, but Sam was always there. It’s always been the _three_ of them. Never just Dean and Cas alone and – and –

“Oh, hey Sam.”

His small panic attack had him miss the entire spell. For Dean, between one blink and the next, Sam is suddenly sitting on the table in place of the plant. He looks a bit dazed, hair a disarray, and his clothes a rumpled mess. Cas closes his spell book with a snap and steps around the table to help Sam to his feet. Dean is at his other side in an instant, helping him off the table and over to his bed. It’s been largely unused since they rented the room yesterday. It was easier to leave the plant on the table overnight.

Sam blinks up at them once they have him seated on his bed. “I – Wow.”

“What a trip, huh, Sammy?” Dean undoes the clasp that holds Sam’s cowl around his neck. Cas works at undoing his belt, continuing the process of getting him down to just his breeches and the tunic he wears under his robes. “You’re just going to take a bit of a nap and then you’ll be in top shape again, right?”

“Uh – yeah?” He looks even more frazzled once they get him mostly undressed.

Dean undoes the tie of Sam’s boots and tugs them off his feet. “Just relax and sleep this all off. In the morning, we’ll have a nice big breakfast.”

“Sounds nice.” Sam yawns loudly and his eyes are already closed.

Cas takes the blanket from Dean’s bed and drapes it over him. Dean takes his sword with him, and Cas gathers his spell book and staff before they leave the room. From some hidden pocket Dean doesn’t even know about, Cas pulls out a knotted string and he ties it around the door handle. With a few muttered words and a couple gestures too quick for Dean to make out, the door quite literally _vanishes_.

“There, that should keep him safe.”

Dean very nearly swoons. Nothing matters more to him than Sam’s safety and the Cas is just – he’s so damn _perfect_. Thank the heavens that the oath of vengeance he took under the name of Kiri-Jolith says _nothing_ about celibacy. He would be a very, very dead man if that were the case – exploding from frustration within the first month of taking his oath would not have been a pleasant way to go. And he was already best friends with Cas by the time he swore himself to his god.

They head down to a room at the end of the hall. It’s actually the one farthest from the room where Sam is now hidden. There’s a ward scribbled in chalk on the door and Cas mutters the password before wiping the chalk away with his sleeve. Inside is a tiny room with literally just a bed. Cas’s bags are arranged carefully on the sole table in the room – one that is too small to actually have a chair at it.

“Where are we supposed to eat?”

“At a table like normal civilized people.” Cas tucks his book under the straw mattress and props his staff in the corner. “You’re welcome to leave your sword here if you’d like.”

There are many things to be disappointed about, but this one stings. He tries _very_ hard not to pout. “I thought you said that we’d be having dinner in your room?”

They’ll still be able to talk and joke around like they usually do downstairs, but it’s not as private. He had kinda been hoping for some _just the two of them_ time. They so rarely get that. And when Sam is around, it’s really hard to determine if Cas likes him. If they were alone, maybe he could work his wiles a little bit and start testing the water to see if Cas is even interested.

“We will.”

“Yeah, alright.” Dean doesn’t _pout_ as he steps around Cas to place his sword next to the staff. “I guess that makes sense.” It makes zero sense.

“Unless you would prefer to stay here?” Cas leans his shoulder against the doorframe and crosses his arms; eyebrow lifted in a decidedly _amused_ kind of way. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic about dinner. However, I should point out that you’re ability to convince me to stay and travel with you hinges entirely on you buying me a meal.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. “Well, I guess I do have to pay you for helping with Sam.”

“Yes, there’s that too.”

After warding his room again, they start down the hall toward the stairs. They’re halfway there when Cas leans in. “You should sleep in my room too so you don’t disturb Sam.”

That stops Dean in his tracks. He looks at Cas sharply, but he’s continuing down the hall with his hands clasped behind him. Dean staggers forward after him. “You – uh – Cas, you only have _one bed_.”

“I do, yes.”

“Um. So, I’ll –” He swallows thickly and glances at him again. Cas is watching him from the corner of his eye. There’s a secretive, almost _smug_ smile on his face. “I’ll be sleeping – uh –”

Cas huffs slightly and it takes Dean a half-second too long to realize that it’s a _laugh_. “You would sleep in the bed, obviously.”

Oh dear god. His mouth is suddenly very dry and Dean licks his lips. “And you’ll be sleeping –?”

“In the bed, of course.”

Now Dean actually stumbles, feet tripping over each other. Cas’s steadying hand on his shoulder is the only thing that keeps him from going headfirst down the stairs. All Dean can do is open and close his mouth a few times, trying _very_ hard to wrap his brain around what Cas just said.

He clears his throat with a cough. “You – I – That’s a pretty small bed. Will – uh – will we fit?”

Cas’s hand is still on his shoulder and he gives it a squeeze. He tilts his head to catch Dean’s eye, a little frown creasing his forehead. “I’m sorry, have I made you uncomfortable? I thought –” And now _he’s_ the one looking unsure. “You always say in your letters that you miss me and you’re always asking me to travel with you. Did I read into things wrong? I –”

The rest of Cas’s words are muffled as Dean steps in and kisses him silent. Because Cas absolutely read everything _right_ and he is apparently way less obvious than Dean first thought, because he had _no idea_ that Cas liked him back until now. And _holy crap he’s kissing Cas_. The best part being that Cas is kissing _back_. He’s not just kissing back, he’s _dominating_ it – pushing forward until Dean’s back hits the wall.

His grip on Dean’s shoulder tightens almost painfully before his hand is sliding up the back of his neck to dig his fingers into close-cut hair. Cas uses that grip to tilt his head, his other arm coming up to wrap around Dean’s waist.

Between the two of them, Dean always thought that he was the one with more experience. As far as he knows, Cas has never said anything about previous partners and there has been a _lot_ of talk about that over the years they’ve known each other. Always from Dean and Sam, though. Cas never contributed, but he _must_ have learned something somewhere because his tongue is doing completely _sinful_ things against Dean’s and his knees are getting very, _very_ weak.

Cas’s catches his bottom lip between his teeth as he steps away. There’s a flush in his cheeks and he’s breathing almost just as hard as Dean is. “We should –” His eyes drop to Dean’s mouth before he closes them and takes a deep breath. “We should go get dinner.”

“Or –” Dean licks his lips and curls his fingers in Cas’s tunic to keep him from moving any further away, because that would be a very _bad_ thing. “Or we could just go back to your room and continue this?”

“We will.” Cas slowly removes Dean’s hands from his shirt, but he doesn’t let go of them. “After we order dinner and bring it back upstairs.”

Dean groans low in the back of his throat. “We were never going to eat downstairs, were we?”

“I have a table and a bed in my room. Plenty of space for us to eat a meal.”

“You’re a _tease_.”

Cas hums in agreement and leans in to kiss him again. It’s soft and carries only a hint of the heat from before, but it’s still _so good_. And Dean wants more kisses like that right now. But he can be patient – he _has_ to be patient. He can wait until they’ve had dinner, and then he’s going to go to his knees in front of Cas and worship him in ways that will make all the gods jealous.

**To Be Continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have received a NSFW prompt to continue this specific AU. It hasn't come up yet in my queue, but when it does I will link the continuation at the end of this "chapter".


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teem & Up (language), Alternate Universe - Modern, high school AU, experimenting friends, unrequited but requited feelings, pre-relationship, Castiel POV, not first person
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: teen!AU – Dean: Hey, what starts with F and ends in U C K?_  
>  Cas: Firetruck.  
> Dean: … How?  
> Cas: My brother is Gabriel. You think I haven’t heard that one before?  
> Dean: Good point.  
> 

**PROMPT #23**

Castiel spins his highlighter between his fingers while reviewing the scanned pages from his textbook. His teachers have long since learned to _not_ give him the actual textbook since he will _always_ highlight important passages, key phrases, dates and the like. They make copies of the necessary readings and give them to him for studying. Once highlighted, Castiel painstakingly hand writes every highlighted item out in his notebook and colour codes the lot of it.

Repetition and colours help him remember. Not all people are able to just read the material once and remember it. Not everyone is _Dean Winchester_ and has already finished studying. Castiel would be mad if Dean had turned on the TV and started playing video games once he was done, or picked up any of the comic books from the shelf. Instead, Dean is sitting quietly on the bed with Castiel’s notes containing a list of vocabulary and terms from another class and he’s preparing coloured flash cards that match it.

It’s really very sweet of him to help. Even though Dean doesn’t need it, Castiel knows that he’ll still sit and review the cards with him. They’ll quiz each other back and forth until they both have the information down pat. That’s how they’ve managed to bring up both their grades since the start of this term. Castiel likes to think that it’s because he helps keep Dean’s attention from wandering.

And then he’s proven wrong as Dean clears his throat. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He turns from his desk to glance at him.

“What word starts with an _F_ and ends with a _U_ , _C_ , and _K_?”

Oh God. Castiel closes his eyes briefly and exhales heavily through his nose. It might have been too much to assume that he could keep Dean focused on studying. The question started out so promising, though. He thought it had to do with vocabulary, and yet –

“C’mon, Cas.” Dean sits forward excitedly, eyes bright. “What starts with _F_ and ends with _U C K_?”

Castiel sighs again. “Firetruck.”

Dean’s expression falls immediately. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before making a sad sound. “ _How_?”

“My brother is Gabriel.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the wall that separates his bedroom from his older brother’s room. “Do you seriously think that I haven’t heard that one before?”

With a disappointed sigh, Dean slumps back against the wall and looks down at the mess of cards in his lap. “Yeah, good point.”

Thinking that’s the end of it, Castiel turns back to continue studying. He picks up where he left off and moves the small ruler as he goes. The ruler is so he doesn’t lose his place in the paragraphs. But he only manages to move down a few lines before Dean clears his throat again.

“What do you call a pop star that makes honey?”

So, apparently they’re not done. This time, Castiel doesn’t turn to look at him. “Bee-yoncé.”

“Goddammit.” Dean thumps his hand on the blanket. “What did the British cereal say?”

“Cheerio.”

Dean groans loudly and the next thump is his head against the wall. “Why are horses the best farm animals at dancing?”

“Because they know the _neigh-neigh_.”

Another thump, this time against both the bed and the wall. “How do you cut the sea in half?”

“With a sea-saw.”

When there is no telltale thump this time, Castiel looks up to find Dean frowning at his phone. He’s very clearly _not studying_. His focus is minimal at best, even in class, and clearly his attention span has moved on to something else. Is he not going to give up until he finds a joke that Castiel _hasn’t_ heard before?

He knows that Dean has found something he thinks might have a chance when he lights up and flashes a confident grin. “What has thirty-six teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk?”

Castiel frowns and taps his highlighter against the page he should be studying. This is certainly something he’s never heard before. It feels like this is one that he would remember because it’s just so _weird_. What does teeth have to do with the Incredible Hulk?

Dean’s grin grows even wider. “You don’t know, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” He sighs and rests his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the desk. “What is it?”

“My –” The pause must be for dramatic effect, but Castiel is concerned about how red he suddenly gets in the face. Dean ducks his head and draws his knees up. “It’s – uh – my zipper.”

Castiel groans and pushes his glasses up so he can rub a hand over his face. “Your penis is the _Incredible Hulk_. If any part of your body is _green_ , you should probably go to the hospital.”

“It’s a _joke_ , Cas.”

“And it’s a terrible one.” He shakes his head and turns back to his studying. “Please, just finish those flashcards. If you can do that, then we can go have some of the pie that my mom bought yesterday.”

Dean perks up immediately. “Really? What kind?”

“Apple.”

“Fuck yes!” Dean pumps the air with both arms before gathering up the cards he had scattered.

The promise of his favourite food will certainly get him focused. Or, it might have the opposite effect. It’s happened before, but Castiel holds out hope that it won’t. Especially since he promised it for _after_ they finished studying.

Except now _Castiel_ is the one who is distracted. Instead of seeing the words on the paper, all he has behind his eyes is that flush in Dean’s cheeks. He drops his head against the desk with a sigh. “You spend so much time in my mind that I should charge you rent.”

“Uh – what?”

Castiel lifts his head again to find Dean staring at him; eyes wide and face _very_ red. He stares him down for a few moments before pushing away from the desk completely. “You’ve destroyed my concentration. We should take a break before getting back to it.” He stands up and rolls his shoulders. “Do you want to make out before we go get pie?”

The cards and the notebook Dean was referencing hit the floor and he turns to stretch out across the bed. He holds his arms out and puckers his lips because he is _utterly ridiculous_. Sometimes Castiel can’t believe he wants to date this dork.

But until he works up the courage to actually ask Dean out, he’ll settle for this ‘ _experimenting’_ thing that they’ve been doing. It’s really just a different kind of studying, but it’s something Dean excels at and can remain _very_ focused on. And Castiel is more than happy to learn what he has to teach.

**To Be Continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A NSFW continuation is in Prompt #35.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646261/chapters/52288480)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Benny Lafitte (briefly)
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Mature, Alternate Universe - Modern, reference to non-con elements, use of roofies, drugged!Cas, pre-relationship, bisexual Dean, demisexual Cas
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Dean works on roofs and goes to the bar with his best friend (Cas) to relax after a hard day’s work – except that Cas gets roofied! Dean finds him about to pass out while being led away by a strange woman. Dean takes him home and, in his drugged state, Cas reveals some things that he would normally be embarrassed to reveal (like his feelings for Dean)._

**PROMPT #24**

“Hey, have you seen Cas?” Dean leans in close to Benny’s ear, talking louder than he normally would so he can be heard over the music.

Benny shakes his head and knocks back the rest of his beer. He waves the bartender over for another and Dean gives up on him. There’s a half dozen other people that he knows here that he could ask about Cas, while also still looking for him. They both have to work tomorrow and Cas insisted that they not stay any later than ten o’clock. Cas is also supposed to be his ride home because Dean tends to drink more than him – especially after a hard day’s work. It’s how he gets his relax on.

He downs the last of his beer and abandons the bottle on the end of the bar. The painkillers he downed at the end of his shift are wearing off and his back is starting to hurt again. If he doesn’t do his stretches before bed, and take another painkiller, than he’s going to have a rough time tomorrow finishing off the roof. The job has to be completed first if he wants to get paid, and he’s got another lined up to start right away.

Thank God he’s only got _maybe_ one more month of work before winter stops him until spring.

Dean rolls his shoulders as he elbows his way through the crowd. Where the hell is Cas? He was standing at the bar when Dean went to the bathroom and now he’s just disappeared? Never, in his life, has Dean ever had this much trouble finding Cas. Usually they’re connected at the hip. Where he goes, Cas goes. Probably the only reason he didn’t go to the bathroom with Dean is because some lady in a too-short skirt and a low-cut shirt was chatting him up and Cas was too polite to excuse himself.

When a lap of the bar doesn’t have Cas turn up, Dean steps outside to use his phone. He gives calling him a try. As soon as the line starts ringing, the familiar chorus of _Sunshine and Whiskey_ starts playing within earshot. He’s got no idea why Cas picked _that_ song for him, but Dean went with an angle based off Cas’s name and still gets a kick whenever his phone rings and Shaggy starts singing _Angel_.

But no wonder he wasn’t able to find Cas in the bar. He’s out here!

Dean turns around and searches through the crowd of smokers grouped randomly along the sidewalk, trying to spot Cas. This isn’t like him, Cas wouldn’t have gone outside without telling him. Is he out here making out with the girl he was talking to? That’s not like him either. He doesn’t _do_ random hookups. Every other time they’ve gone out, Cas has resolutely refused to go home with anyone.

Yup, there he is. Stumbling towards a car hanging off the shoulder of too-short-too-low-cut. Hold up. Why is he _stumbling_? Cas was the designated driver. He’s only been drinking water and a couple Shirley Temples tonight.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean shoves his way through the crowd. He grabs Cas by the arm and stops him from getting into the car. “Where are you going?”

Short-skirt turns a glare on him and tugs at Cas’s other arm. Unbelievably, she’s still trying to get him into her car. “He had too much to drink and asked me to take him home.”

Dean looks her over and tightens his grip on Cas’s arm. “That’s funny, coz’ I could have sworn that all the drinks he ordered on _my_ tab were non-alcoholic.” He raises his voice purposefully; drawing the attention of some of the people on the sidewalk, including the beefy dude managing the door to the bar. “The only way he’d be _drunk_ is if _someone_ was _tampering_ with his drinks!”

Low-cut pales slightly. She glances around, realizes how many eyes are on them, and shoves them both back. Cas stumbles into Dean’s chest, hard enough that it sends him staggering. Hands against his back are the only thing that keeps the two of them from going to the pavement. Without a word, she gets into the car in the same seat she was trying to get Cas into. And that’s when Dean realizes that there’s some dude sitting in the driver’s seat.

The car peels away from the curb before she even has the door properly shut.

“I got their info.” Someone at his elbow speaks up. It’s a guy with a neon pink Mohawk and he shows Dean his phone with a picture of the back of the car with make, model, and plate. “I can call the cops for you too, if you want?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Thanks.” Dean fumbles to pull out his wallet while supporting Cas too. He gets one of his business cards out and hands it to Mohawk. “If they need to get a hold of me, that’s my number. I’m going to take Cas home where he’ll be safe while he’s – whatever it is she did to him.”

Mohawk already has the phone to his ear. He looks Cas over and frowns. “My guess is she roofied him.”

That makes Dean’s stomach turn and he swallows against the bile burning in his throat. He tries _really hard_ not to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t gone looking for Cas when he did. Dean takes a few deep breaths and makes a mental note to Google the effects of Rohypnol so he can be prepared for whatever the rest of his night is going to be like. And he’s going to have to let both Cas’s boss and _his_ know that neither one of them is going into work tomorrow. Fuck, that means he won’t be able to finish the roof tomorrow either because like fuck is he going to leave Cas alone while he’s recovering from this complete and utter fucking _bullshit_.

“C’mon, Cas.” He hauls him up onto his feet proper, a little surprised to find that he can actually stand – though a bit wobbly. “You ready to go home, buddy?”

Cas rocks his head side to side with every wobble and Dean pulls his arm around his shoulders, just in case he ends up pitching forward. He’d never hear the end of it if he let Cas faceplant on the sidewalk and bust his nose.

“Hey, you listening?” Dean jostles Cas’s shoulders slightly to try and get a reaction out of him. “How ya doing in there?”

That gets Cas’s attention. He rolls his head to the side to fix Dean with a droopy eyed stare. A lazy smile pulls at the corners of his mouth and he slowly brings up a hand, though it wavers in the air slightly. “Boop!” Instead of gently tapping the end of Dean’s nose like he probably meant to, Cas just full on smacks his hand against his face.

“Thanks for that.” He pulls Cas’s hand back down and tries to offer him a smile. It’s hard, given how sick he feels right now. “Let’s get you home.”

“I’mma dr-r-r-r-rive.” Cas takes a staggering step but barely moves forward with Dean holding onto him.

Never, in his entire life, has Dean heard Cas use that contraction. Or roll his R’s like that. “No fucking way. We’re calling a cab.”

“I’ve got one on the way for myself, but you can have it.” A girl with a tattoo taking up all of her left arm speaks up from the crowd still gathered around them.

“I really appreciate it, thanks.” Dean gives her a weak smile too, the best he can manage right now. She waves him off, already calling up another cab for herself.

It’s only a few minutes before the taxi shows up. Cas is conscious, but he’s a loose mess as Dean helps him into the back seat. He shoves him over gently to make room for himself and gets in after him. Cas looks around with a frown, like he’s confused, but he lights up again when he sees Dean with him. The door isn’t even shut before Cas is plastered to his side, stealing his arm to hug it tightly while resting his cheek against his shoulder.

“Yer _dr-r-r-r-reamy_.” He sighs, and it sounds weirdly _happy_.

Dean is so not mentally prepared for this. “Thanks, Cas.” He pats one of the hands holding his arm and leans forward to give Cas’s address to the driver. It will be better for him to wake up in his own bed than at Dean’s place.

On the way, he sends Benny a message to let him know that he and Cas left. For Cas’s sake, Dean leaves out mention of the roofies. Cas is mumbling nonsense into his shoulder the whole ride while Dean manages to steal his phone and get the number for his boss. He leaves a voicemail that Cas won’t be in tomorrow and his number to call him in the morning. Bobby, his boss, gets a text message. He’ll probably just send someone else to finish the job since there’s barely a day’s worth of work left and Dean will just take the hit in his paycheck.

Doesn’t matter, though. Cas is worth it.

By the time they reach the apartment and Dean has paid for the cab, Cas is even worse. He can barely stay upright. It’s like he’s going to fall asleep any minute. Fuck. Even though Dean’s body is sore from a hard day’s work, he still gets Cas up (not easily) to piggyback him into the building, up the elevator, and right into his apartment. With some careful maneuvering, he gets Cas on the couch – where he immediately flops over onto his side.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Dean helps him sit back up and waves his hand in front of his eyes to see if he can focus on it. “I’m going to get you some water, okay? Stay right here.”

“Yer so _nice_.” Cas sighs and drops his head against the back of the couch, watching Dean move to the kitchen to pour water from the jug in the fridge into one of those spill-proof water bottles that Cas has on hand. “Yer _gr-r-r-r-r-reat_.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “I sure am, Tony.” Dean hooks a foot under the ottoman and drags it over in front of Cas for him to sit on. “Now here, drink this.”

Cas sits forward and takes the bottle in both hands before slumping back. It takes him a few tries to bring it up to his mouth enough for him to actually drink. Dean hover hands over Cas’s thighs, just in case he needs help. Turns out he doesn’t, but he does have to catch the bottle when Cas just lets it drop after he’s finished.

“Now how about we get you to bed, huh?”

Weirdly enough, Cas actually _lights up_ at the idea. He still wobbles as he sits forward, but now he’s smiling. “Really? Finally!” Cas makes a few attempts before managing to get both hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I’ve been waiting _forever-r-r_!”

“Waiting for what?” Dean raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to the side. “To go to bed?”

“No, for _you_.” Cas grins and brings his hands up to cup Dean’s cheeks, squishing them together a little harder than he’s comfortable with. “Coz’ I _love_ you.”

Wait, what?

That brings all the gears in Dean’s brain to a grinding halt. Cas loves him? What? He’s been waiting forever for _him_? And for what? To take him to bed? That’s just – that’s – Wow, Cas is getting awfully close there. Seriously close. Holy _fuck_ he’s going to _kiss him_.

Dean jerks back out of Cas’s grip before that can happen. Immediately, Cas’s face falls. His hands drop and he slumps back again. He hasn’t looked that sad since his pet fish died and it definitely tugs at the heartstrings. At least there’s no tears this time.

“Sorry.” Cas sighs and drops his head back. “Keep forgettin’ yer _straight_.”

Oh, man. Now Dean feels guilty. Cas has been his best friend going back to kindergarten, and he’s one of the very few people left that Dean hasn’t come out to as bisexual. Which kinda makes him a shitty friend, but there’s a reason for the secrecy. He figured out his was bisexual _because_ of Cas. There was several years of crushing before Dean sorta got over it. Of course he loves Cas dearly as one of his best friends, but he valued that friendship over everything else.

It didn’t help matters when Cas announced that he doesn’t care about gender. The only thing that matters to him is the connection that he has with a person. He’s not a very sexual, as far as Dean knows, but he’s dated both men and women in the past. There’s a word for it, but Dean can never remember it.

All that and Cas never gave so much as a _hint_ that he was interested in _him_ that way.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Dean grabs one of Cas’s hands and squeezes it. “You’re really tired right now. We’ll talk about this again in the morning, okay?” He offers Cas a soft, warm smile when he lifts his head to blink at him. God, his eyes are wet like he’s about to cry. “I’ll make you my famous pancakes, yeah? I’ll even put fruit in them coz’ I know you love it.”

That makes Cas smile and he brings their hands up to his face. Dean tries very hard (and fails) not to blush when Cas rubs his cheek against his knuckles. “Yer so _good_ to me. Love you _so much_.”

“I know, Cas. I know.” He pats him on the knee and stands up. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

For a moment, he brightens– and then drops into sadness _again_. Jesus Christ, he’s _pouting_. “Yer not gonna join me are you?”

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep.” Dean pulls Cas to his feet and immediately supports most of his weight, his head dropping to Dean’s shoulder. “And then I’ll sleep out here on the couch.” Just like he always has any time he’s slept over.

“Stay with me.” Cas lazily loops his arm around his waist and leans heavily into his side. “Please?”

It’s getting hard to refuse him when he uses that quiet, sad little voice. Dean wisely chooses not to answer. He takes a deep breath and starts them towards the bedroom, practically dragging Cas there since his feet don’t seem to be working that well.

Undressing Cas is just as difficult as getting him to walk anywhere. It’s like working with limp spaghetti that can’t stop touching you. Cas has a fascination with touching his face and, even though he’s sitting, sways forward a lot like he’s going to try and kiss him again. Dean is resolute in getting him out of his dumb sweater vest and jeans. He leaves him in his underwear, even if Cas usually has matching pajama sets that he always wears.

After getting Cas tucked in, Dean gets the forgotten water bottle and a bottle of aspirin. As a last minute decision, he also puts the garbage can from the bathroom next to the bed – plastic bag tucked inside. He stays fully dressed and lies down on the covers on the other side for the bed. Cas immediately turns over and snuggles into his side, nonsense murmuring starting up again.

Dean allows it, even going so far as to put his arm around his shoulders. The nonsense eventually drifts off as Cas falls asleep. That’s the point where Dean is supposed to get up and go to the couch. Instead, he stays put and digs his phone out of his pocket. He searches up everything he can find about people who have been roofied and what he should do as aftercare in the morning. Unless Cas is very sick in the morning, there isn’t really any need for him to go to the hospital.

Partway through his research, his phone rings with an unknown number. Cas doesn’t even twitch at the sound, and Dean answers. Ah, the cops following up. Looks like he’s not going to get any sleep soon.

*

Dean doesn’t really sleep during the night. He’s just barely dozing when Cas starts stirring and then goes quite obviously still. When he opens his eyes, Cas is staring at him and he’s frozen with his arm still thrown over Dean’s waist.

“G’mornin’ sunshine.” Dean muffles a yawn and sits up slightly. “How you feeling?”

“You’re in my bed.” Cas sits up slightly. “You always sleep on the couch.” He frowns and looks down, pulling back slightly. “And you’re _dressed_. Why are you dressed?”

Instead of answering, Dean moves his arm and stands up. “Does your stomach feel okay?” He goes around to the other side of the bed to grab the water bottle. “Here, drink up. You’re probably feeling dehydrated. Does your head hurt?”

Cas sits up properly, but doesn’t make any effort to pop the top on the bottle. He’s still frowning as he looks up at Dean. “What happened? I don’t – We were at the bar and I – I don’t. When did we leave? How did we get here? You were in my _bed_ and –”

The tirade of questions is cut off with a _hurk_. Dean shoves the garbage can into his hands and Cas shudders violently before throwing up into it – again and again. At the first break in the sickening – which puts Dean’s gag reflex to the test – they move to the bathroom. While Cas hugs the toilet, Dean sits on the edge of the tub and rubs his back.

“Just let it all out, buddy. This isn’t going to be an easy day.”

“What _happened_?” Cas chokes out between gross burps and body shaking gags. “I wasn’t _drinking_.”

Dean pats him between the shoulder blades a few times. “I know, I know.” He hands him the water bottle again at the next sign of everything slowing down. “Drink.”

This time, he does manage to take a few sips. Cas sits back against the wall opposite the toilet and leans his head back. “What happened?”

“You were roofied.” Dean has never been one to pussyfoot around the topic. “She was trying to get you into a car when I found you. It’s been reported to the cops and everything.”

“Oh God.” Cas takes several deep breaths and covers his face with his hands. “Oh _God_.”

Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have ripped the Band-Aid off so quickly.

Dean slips from the edge of the tub so he can sit next to Cas. He puts an arm around his shoulders and one-armed hugs him. “It wasn’t your fault, Cas. And they’re going to find that chick and the dude she was with. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

But Cas is still shaking and there’s quiet little noises coming from under his hands. It’s killing Dean to hear it and he hugs tighter. “I promise that I didn’t let anything happen. I took you straight home, had you drink some water, and put you to bed.”

Cas sniffles under his hands, but doesn’t make any move to lower them. “But you always sleep on the couch.” He hiccups and curls up against Dean’s side.

“Well, I had to stay and make sure you were okay.” Dean shrugs and rests his cheek against the top of Cas’s head. He’ll bring up this whole _Cas in love with him_ thing later, once he’s feeling better and not crying into his shoulder at the prospect of strangers taking advantage of him.

Silence follows before Cas is scrambling forward to hug the toilet again. Dean moves back to the tub to rub his back. He hasn’t done this for anyone since Sam’s first time drinking. It was bad enough to scare him straight and drink responsibility ever since. People throwing up has _never_ been something that Dean likes being around. In fact, all past girlfriends have had to deal with this on their own because he couldn’t bring himself to comfort them like this – no matter how much he liked them.

But, as he concluded after his _many_ hours of thinking last night, Cas is one of the most important people in his life. He deserves to know the truth about Dean’s sexuality. And as much as Dean hates having heartfelt conversations, they’re going to end up having one. He does love Cas, always has, even if it wasn’t exactly _romantic_ for most of their friendship. But that can change.

Pretty fucking easily, actually.

**END**


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - high school, idiots being cute, cheerleader Dean, bisexual Dean, queer Castiel (not officially declared), cheerleader Castiel
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _jennilah: Cas and Dean are both mascots for rival schools. They finally meet each other outside of costume and fall in love all Romeo and Juliet style (in the forbidden way, not the dying way)._

**PROMPT #25**

Dean yanks the head off his _Triumph_ _Tiger_ costume and throws it against the wall of the changing room. After a moment, he stomps over to pick it up. _Triumph_ deserves better than that, even if he did just get schooled _hard_ by that goddamn eagle from _Evermount High_ during the dance off between the mascots in the halftime show. Since when did the fucker wearing _Earnest Eagle_ ’s costume learn to break dance? That’s fucking _cheating_.

It’s tradition that a member of the cheer squad is the mascot for _Triston Hills High_ , and Dean was a very active member before he took up the suit. The squad is full of near experts in a bunch of different methods of dance and they planned out his routine for the halftime dance off together. But they didn’t account for one thing – the fact that Dean _sucks_ at break dancing. Give him freestyle and he’ll kick ass but that? Screwed.

“Hey, champ.” Charlie shoulders the door open, two bottles of water in hand. “Need to use the bathroom? I’ll unzip you quick if you want. You’ve got about five minutes before you have to be on the field again to pump that crowd up.”

He groans and resists flopping across the bench. “ _Fine_. Unzip me.”

While she uncovers the zip at the back of the costume, Dean chugs as much of the water as he can. It’s hot as _hell_ inside the suit, but it’s an honour to be _Triumph Tiger_ and he’s not going to complain. What he will complain about is how _Earnest Eagle_ shows him up at every possible turn. If Dean does a cartwheel, _Earnest_ does a fucking backflip. If Dean does all of _Thriller_ , then that asshole pulls out some voodoo magic and has an entire routine made up of ridiculously popular dances.

The crowd always goes wild for _Earnest_ and Dean hates him with a passion. Bald eagles are the nation’s bird, but he wants to punch _Earnest_ in his stupid fucking beak. He doesn’t have this problem with any of the other mascots that he goes against. It’s just this one that always outdoes him. _Always_. If he could just win against him once, he wouldn’t have such a problem with him.

 _Earnest Eagle_ is his nemesis and Dean _will_ win against him before the season is out, so help him God.

After a quick trip to the bathroom and a wipe down of the more sweatier parts of him to feel a little more refreshed, Dean gets zipped back up. Charlie hands him the second bottle of water and he downs that one a little slower.

“Don’t let him get to you.” She pats him on the shoulder as they head back out towards the field. “He’s been a mascot a lot longer than you have.”

“How would _you_ know?”

Charlie rolls her eyes at him. “I talk to people. I hear things.” She flashes him a grin and takes the bottle of water in exchange for the head to the costume. “Are you coming to the after party? Ash’s parents green lit him to have a party and he’s out there inviting everyone he meets.”

He opens his mouth to ask the important question and Charlie holds up a hand to stop him. “Yes, there will be booze, you frikken _January_ baby. His parents are going to be carding everyone that goes up to the bar he’s got in the basement.”

“Fuck yeah!”

Dean probably shouldn’t drink because he’s got cheer practice tomorrow, but that’s not until the afternoon and he knows how to drink in moderation. One or two beers isn’t going to hurt, but it’ll certainly be a nice way to relax after a frustration competition against _Earnest Eagle_. As a promoter for his team, he probably should care more about them winning, but they’ve been kicking ass all season and he figures they’re probably doing fine – even if the _Eagles_ are also a pretty good team.

Once the head is back on and Charlie has helped secure it to the rest of the suit, Dean gives her a high-five. “Let’s get out there and kick some ass!”

*

“Is this seat taken?”

Dean points at the only spot left on the main floor to sit – the other side of a loveseat next to some guy he’s never seen before. He must be from _Evermount High_ , because Dean knows basically everyone from his own school that would be here. The dude has his phone in hand and he glances from it, to the spot, and then to Dean. It’s pretty bright up in the living room, with the low light dance area and booming music located mostly in the basement, and he doesn’t seem much the type interested in parties.

“It’s free.” He shrugs and looks back down at his phone.

“Thanks.” With a sigh, Dean slumps down next to him as gently as he can so he doesn’t jostle him. He kicks his feet up on the ottoman and sinks down even lower “I don’t know how everyone can have this much energy after the game.”

The guy hums in agreement, but otherwise doesn’t answer. He only speaks up when Dean takes a sip from his can of beer. “Which month?”

“Huh?”

He gestures at Dean’s beer with his phone. “It’s May and you have a beer. You must be eighteen by now. Which month were you born in?”

“January.” Dean takes another sip. “What about you?”

“September.” His bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “I won’t even get to drink at prom.”

Shit, that sucks. Dean winces and gives him a sympathetic look. “Bad luck, bud.”

“Castiel.”

“Dean.” He holds his free hand out for a shake, because manners are an important thing.

They shake and then Cas goes back to looking at his phone. Dean doesn’t _try_ to peep, but he’s kinda looking in that direction already. “Oh, you play _Words With Friends_ too?”

“Are they really friends if they’re people I’ve never met before?” Cas sighs and shakes his head. “None of my siblings or friends want to play, so I do random matches through the game.”

Dean rocks to one side, briefly pressing his shoulder against Cas’s, to get his phone from his back pocket. He unlocks it and loads up the app. “I play. What’s your handle? I’ll challenge you.”

That gets the first smile out of him. Cas lights up and they exchange information quickly. Within a few minutes, they have a game started. After a few turns, Dean decides the silence between them isn’t good enough. There are conversations going on all around them between people who don’t feel like dancing or playing whatever games others having going on in the backyard.

“So, you’re a senior at _Evermount_ , right?”

Cas hums and plays a six letter word like it’s no big deal, giving Dean the distinct feeling that he’s dealing with a _nerd_. The sweater vest doesn’t do much to convince him otherwise. “Junior, actually. I assume you’re a senior, but at _Triston Hills_?”

“Bingo.” Dean manages a four letter word off the six, but he hits a triple word score in the process. “No offense, but you don’t really look the type who would be into sports.”

“I’m really not.” Cas takes a lot longer to make his next move. “But I needed an extracurricular to pad my college application. One of my brothers is on the team and he dragged me here – then promptly abandoned me.”

Dean glances around the room and then looks at Cas. “Where is he?”

“Knowing him, he met a willing partner and lured them into the biggest closet he could find.” Cas shrugs and sighs loudly. “Balthazar functions primarily with his _downstairs_ brain.”

That was _not_ a good time to take another sip of beer. It damn near comes out of Dean’s nose and he breaks down coughing. Cas startles slightly before slapping him between the shoulder blades a few times. “I’m sorry. Please don’t die.”

The coughing turns into laughter and it takes _way_ too long for Dean to get it under control. He sits back with a loud gasp. “Holy crap. You’re a nerd with a sense of humour!”

“I’m not a _nerd_.”

“You’re kicking my ass and we’ve only played nine words.” Dean holds up his phone to prove it. “I know you’re in your _Junior Year_ and you’re already working on your college applications. You’re wearing a _sweater vest_ to a high school party. I bet all your classes are advanced placement too.”

Colour rises in Cas’s cheeks and he looks away. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh it definitely means something.” Dean sits back, pleased with himself, and plays his next word. “It means that you’re a _nerd_.”

“Do you always insult people you just met?”

Dean hums and bumps their shoulders together with another laugh. “Only the cute ones.”

Cas _is_ pretty cute, but Dean mostly means that as a joke. He doesn’t expect Cas to go still next to him and not play his next word. It’s a few long drawn out moments before Dean glances at him, only to find Cas frowning down at his phone.

“Uh –” He bumps his shoulder again. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Are you just teasing me because I look the part?” Cas turns that frown on him and Dean shrinks back from it. “I _like_ the way I dress, I like taking dance classes, and none of that has anything to do with my sexuality. And I’ve had it up to _here_ –” He even gestures with his hand somewhere near his hairline. “– with everyone teasing me for something they know _nothing_ about.”

Jesus, apparently he struck a nerve. Dean holds up both hands. “I’m not making fun of you!”

“Then why did you call me _cute_?” He narrows his eyes and that look gets even icier. “You didn’t assume that I’m gay and you’re not making fun of me for it?”

“Um – no?” Yup, definitely hit a nerve. Apparently _someone_ has been bullied a little too much. “I’m calling you cute because you _are_ cute. And it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to make fun of you for something like being gay.”

Cas raises an eyebrow and tilts his head _just so_ , increasing his cuteness level a whole ten percent. “Why do you say that?”

“Dude. I’m not on the football team. I’m a _cheerleader_.” He shrugs and sits back again. “And, _bi_ the way, I’m super bi.”

“What does being a cheerleader have to do with that?” Cas sits back too and opens his phone again, frowning at it while trying to put together another word.

Dean hums, already planning out what he’s going to play next. “Absolutely nothing. But that’s a bit of a wild card. Some people like it, some don’t. Especially when they find out that I spend every game dancing around as a giant tiger.”

And, once again, Cas goes still. What could it have been now?

“You –” He turns slowly. “You’re _Triumph Tiger_?”

“At least until the end of the season. And then I get to pick the next Junior who’ll take on the mantle. The Dick Grayson to my Bruce Wayne.” Dean puts a hand over his heart and sighs. “I’m _totally_ going to plan some kind of over the top ceremony. It’ll be great.”

Instead of actually continuing the conversation in any way whatsoever, Cas continues to stare at him. Before Dean can question him on it, Charlie comes up the stairs from the basement. She spots him almost right away and beelines right for him. “Dude, what the hell.”

“Huh?”

“You’re canoodling with the enemy!” She points at Cas.

Quite rightfully, he looks insulted at the accusation. “Excuse me? The _enemy_?”

Charlie ignores Cas  and continues to frown down at Dean, hands on her hips and everything. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

“Uh – a junior at _Evermount_? And we _weren’t_ canoodling!” At least not yet. Dean was still testing the waters on that front.

She rolls her eyes and gives him the kind of look that says he’s missing some very important information, though what it might be Dean doesn’t have the faintest clue.

“What? You know as well as I do that half the people here play for the other team.” Sadly, that’s not a euphemism for anything. “How is it any different from you making goo-goo eyes at their head cheerleader? Y’know, the one with the thighs that could crush a man’s head?”

Cas raises an eyebrow and steals a glance back and forth between the two of them. He hums softly when he realizes what’s being said. “Incidentally, Kiera _does_ play for the other team.”

At that, a little _light_ seems to come on in Charlie’s eyes. “Is she single?” When Cas nods, she points at him again. “That information just bought you my forgiveness for kicking Dean’s ass earlier today.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Dean sits forward and now it’s his turn to look between the two of them – except Charlie turns on her heel and takes off back towards the basement, leaving Dean to turn to Cas for an explanation. “What the hell was that supposed to mean?”

“It means you lost to me at half-time today.” Cas shrugs, as if that hadn’t pissed Dean off to no end when he’d been taken to the cleaners so thoroughly that _Earnest Eagle_ probably hadn’t even broken a goddamn sweat.

Jesus _Christ_.

“You – you’re –”

“Did you honestly think that I was a part of the football team?” Cas raises an eyebrow at him and taps at his phone, making Dean’s phone bing in his hand with the notification that he just played a word.

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. “Weren’t you kinda just chewing me out for something a little like judging a book by its cover? Just because you dress like a nerd doesn’t mean that you can’t kick ass at football.” He throws his hands in the air. “But _apparently_ you’re not on the team! You’re the goddamn _mascot_.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I want to set _Earnest Eagle_ on fire.”

“It sounds like I’ve wounded your ego.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him before sitting back and starting in on his next word. “It wouldn’t suck so much if you weren’t hot outside of the suit.”

Cas muffles a laugh behind his hand. “I assure you, I’m also hot _inside_ the suit.”

“Don’t play cute. We’re mortal enemies.” His next word is fucking pitiful at best, but Dean is a little distracted what with having apparently flirted with _Earnest Eagle_ of all people.

“I’m not being cute. You can’t tell me that you don’t find it ridiculously hot inside the suit.” Cas shrugs and tilts him a little smile that’s cuter than it has any right to be. Screw Charlie and her ruining the good thing he had going here by bringing reality and the truth into this.

“That’s beside the point.”

“It’s entirely the point.” Cas plays another word, putting Dean nearly one hundred points behind.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m really not.” He hums and their shoulders bump again, only this time Cas is the one who makes it happen. “You’re just upset that I dance better than you.” After a pause, Cas continues in a lower voice. “And because now you’re going to feel weird if you keep flirting with me.”

Dean groans and thumps his head against the back of the loveseat. “I _wasn’t_ flirting with you.”

“Your friend saw you for all of five seconds and immediately called you out on _canoodling with the enemy_.” Cas gets a thoughtful look to him and taps his phone against his chin. “I don’t know about you, but I think that’s some pretty damning evidence.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t believe you.” Cas drums his fingers against the back of his phone. “In fact, I think you _like_ me. You find me charming. And that’s why you’re so mad.” He leans over a little more to look at Dean’s phone and the words he’s trying to put together. “Or perhaps it’s because you’re losing.”

Goddammit. This fucker is a _threat_. Not only is he a kickass dancer in a giant eagle suit, but he actually _is_ charming. Dean both loves and hates it, in part because he’s actually being flirted with by a _guy_. His luck with the ladies knows no end, but he’s had a hell of a time with finding guys who are interested. The ones that are into dudes are usually so closeted that they won’t act on anything. It sucks, but it is what it is and Dean challenges it by being out and proud.

Should he keep fighting it? Dean likes Cas more and more the longer they talk – whether he’s _Earnest Eagle_ or not. He really shouldn’t… The team and the cheer squad frown heavily upon dating the ‘enemy’ – especially during the actual playing season. Charlie really wasn’t just being silly when she called Cas that. His school has long since called opposing teams as such. It’s all fun and games, really. Otherwise they wouldn’t be having a party with them after the game like this, would they?

“Tell ya what, Cas.” Dean sits up a little straighter. “If you win, _I’ll_ pay for the movie.”

“And if you win?”

“You pay.”

Cas does that adorable head tilt again. “I’ll agree but only on the condition that the deal only counts if I actually like you by the end of the night.” At that, he holds out his hand.

Dean grins and shakes it. “Deal. By the end of the night, you’re going to _love_ me.”

**END**


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Jack Kline (in a sense), Male OC
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up, Alternate Universe - D&D, pre-relationship, strangers to... still strangers, Wizard!Dean, Barbarian/Berserker!Sam, Druid!Cas, maaaaaaaaaaaaagic
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Alternate D &D AU – Dean is a wizard and Sam is a berserker/barbarian. They are well respected and feared because Dean can magic his brother to be an invulnerable juggernaut. They get a job to clear people out of a small forest, but a single druid refuses to let the trees be destroyed. Swamp spells prevent Sam from juggernauting, so they end up having to talk it out. It’s not the preferred method when force usually works._

**PROMPT #26**

When people see Sam, they all but scramble to get out of his path. Who wouldn’t? He’s obscenely tall, covered in hide armor that clearly strains over his muscles, and he carries a massive great axe with a blade so intimidating that even the most stalwart of men would tremble at it. And the fact that Sam carries it as if it were no lighter than a dagger? Absolutely _terrifying_.

To most he looks like just any other Barbarian strolling down the road. To others, those who know what to look for, they might notice that the paint he wears on his face isn’t a marking from any clan, but rather to hide the lightning-bolt lines around his eyes – the ones that grow darker each time he descends into the berserker frenzy. Those that notice make sure to stay well out of his way.

He’s no hulking frame, but he still grabs all the attention. So much so that no one notices the Page next to him, even if he does stand nearly as tall as Sam. But there’s nothing eye-catching about someone dressed in an unassuming tunic, breeches, and leather boots with a heavy satchel over his shoulder and a knotted walking stick in hand. There’s nothing about Dean’s outward appearance that would cause one to think him much of a threat beyond the set of knives hidden in the small of his back, their holster on his belt hardly noticeable, and the light crossbow and quiver that hangs from his hip.

Obviously Dean isn’t a Page at all. His walking stick hides a wand inside of it; imbued with magic and the arcane focus for his spells. His tome of knowledge is what weighs down his satchel more so than all the bits and bobs that he needs for some of his spells. The point, however, is that he doesn’t _look_ like a Wizard and he certainly doesn’t act like one either.

And that’s the whole point. It throws off everyone they meet and especially the ones they fight. No one expects Dean to whip the book out of his bag, chant a few quick words, and imbue Sam with _Haste_ , _Protection from Evil and Good_ , _Shield_ , and any number of spells necessary to make him a force to be reckoned with. On top of that, his axe is enchanted with a bastardized version of a _Levitation_ spell that makes such a massive weapon lightweight and easy to swing.

Combining Dean’s spells with the berserker frenzy turns Sam into a juggernaut; merciless, destructive, and _unstoppable_. The only thing that can stop him is one of Dean’s sleep spells. Because obviously he leaves himself a backdoor in all his spells so that only he is able to cast on Sam through all the protections he puts on him.

Together, they make for a hot commodity in the business of questing. Dean maintains his low profile of being nothing more than a lowly Page by biting his tongue and deferring to Sam whenever their travels bring them into a town where they can pick up various quests. The funds from completing those will carry them over to the next town, and there they repeat the process all over again. It gets them full bellies and warm beds to sleep in, so they see no point in ending their way of life any time soon.

They’ve never had a problem completing quests this way before – until today.

*

Sam has the scroll spread out in front of him and Dean, ever playing the Page, subtly reads it over his shoulder. After a few hums and haws, and an unseen double tap of approval to his back, Sam nods. “I can take care of this.”

“Are you sure?” The official behind the counter twists his hands together, having trouble meeting their eyes. “We’ve tried all manner of people for this job before and none of them have succeeded.” But he still presses his inked seal onto the scroll, approving it as a given question. “And I’m going to lose my head to the Council if I don’t get those damn fools out of the forest soon. We need to expand the housing district and to do so we need to move the wall a good league into the forest, but the forest dwellers fight us at every turn and won’t let us cut down the trees.”

The chair screeches against the floor as Sam pushes himself away from the table and stands. “Like I said–” He hefts his axe from where it was resting next to him and swings it easily up onto his shoulder. The lack of effort to hoist the massive thing doesn’t go unnoticed and the official pales slightly. “I can take care of this. Just point me to where I need to go.”

As Sam moves out of the way, Dean slips forward to gather the scroll. He rolls it up, ties it closed, and tucks it into his satchel. With one quick nod at the official, he follows after Sam quietly. The only sound in the room is the caw of a crow perched outside the window, pecking idly at the grain of the wood. Their whole gambit hinges on no one thinking anything of him, so he’ll keep up the Page-ly pretense until they’re in the clear outside of the town boundaries.

“What supplies do we need?” Sam asks over his shoulder, because Dean always stays a few steps behind him around other people.

Dean pulls a strip of parchment from the pocket of his tunic. “We’ll pick up travel rations after you’re done the job, but we could stand to stock up on salted pork and refill our canteens at the local well. I could use some more crossbow bolts and _supplies_.” The emphasis he uses means that he needs to refill some of his spell casting materials. “And you need new greaves.”

Sam groans quietly before pulling a pouch of coins off his hip. He tosses it to Dean. “You get the supplies. I’ll go get outfitted for new greaves and your bolts. Meet me there to pay for it.”

“Yes’sir!” Dean tucks both the parchment and the gold away and they part right there in the middle of the street.

It’s not even midday yet, so they’ll head out to find these _forest dwellers_ , as the official called them. From what he said, they’re an infestation that moved in not long after the town was built. It’s expanded into a thriving hub for travellers making their weary way through the sprawling forest that covers half the continent’s west. They ravage the farms by stealing livestock, and they chase out the workmen trying to gather enough wood for building and firewood.

In their long travels, Dean and Sam have dealt with people like this more times than Dean can remember. This lot shouldn’t be any trouble. Neither of them has any trouble spilling blood, though they’d prefer not to do that to innocents. As far as he knows, these forest dwellers haven’t actually _hurt_ anyone. They’ve just been a nuisance. So, hopefully, Sam will be intimidating enough to send them scurrying right back to their camp without having to actually _hurt_ anyone. There, they’ll root them out at their source, destroy it, and send them scattering into the forest to pick up elsewhere and be a thorn in the side of some other town.

There’s one other person in the out of the way and obscure shop that sells spell casting components. Shops like these are usually tucked away in some back corner of the market. The only way to find it is by following the symbols drawn in strategic locations throughout the market place, otherwise unnoticed by everyone else. A crow sits on the roof of the shop. It gives a mournful cry before ripping at something it has caught in its claws. Dean barely spares it a glance before pulling the door open and heading inside.

The shop keeper sits behind a desk, slowly measuring out and bottling potion components. She nods at Dean as he ducks through the blankets she has hanging inside the door. Dean returns the greeting in kind, and repeats it when the other shopper glances over. Clear blue eyes burn from under a hooded pelt. A slight tip of the head is all he gets in return. Those eyes are too bright to be human. Elf? Half-elf? Or a Human with a God-pack. Judging by the attire, Dean is willing to bet good gold on _Druid_.

No one says a word the whole time that he’s there. Dean finds the components he needs to round out his spell bag again, pays, and leaves with nothing more than a nod again. He’s half way down the street again when a shiver runs across the back of his neck.

“Why are you following me?”

The voice is far closer than he expected; almost directly at his shoulder. “I’m very interested in the scroll you carry in your bag.”

“I’ve got lots of scrolls in my bag.” Dean turns to find the Druid close enough that their chests bump. It throws him slightly, but he stands his ground. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”

At this distance, the hood doesn’t hide anything. The Druid tilts his head and his eyes flicker yellow for a brief moment as he breathes deeply through his nose. When he smiles, the canines of his teeth are sharper than they should be. “The one that _reeks_ of the Council administrator who gave it to you before you came to the shop.”

As if on cue, a crow caws above them and flutters down to rest on the Druid’s shoulder. Dean stares at it, and it stares right back. It cocks its head to the side, much like the Druid, and fluffs its feathers. He narrows his eyes at it. “You’ve been following me since his office.”

“Yes, Jack has a keen eye for those who wish to do us harm.” The Druid brings a hand up, a scrap of meat between his fingers. The crow takes it with a happy sound closer to a squeak than its usual cry. It takes its treat and flutters up to the nearest roof where it sits to eat and watch them.

“I’m not here to harm anyone.” Dean spreads his arms in a gesture of innocence. “My brother and I simply take jobs that need to be done, and carry them out to the satisfaction of our employers.”

The Druid’s eyes slide back into blue again, though they’re still an unnerving shade that lends suggestion to the powers he still further has. “Even if that satisfaction is at the expense of a people who were here long before this town was even a twinkle in the eyes of its founders?”

“It’s your word against theirs.” He shrugs and shakes his head. “And they’re the ones paying us.”

There’s a distinct tone of _disappointment_ when the Druid sighs. He leans on a staff as long as he is tall; its length a braid of roots and the semblance of a small tree adorning the twisted ball at its top. “Are all your decisions based on money?”

“Money is what keeps us fed and clothed. It’s what keeps our equipment sharp.” Dean lifts his head and straightens his shoulders; standing his ground. He won’t be talked down to by some tree loving bumpkin who doesn’t know the first thing about what it’s like to try and _survive_ in this world outside of his precious forest.

Beyond the trees, out in the wastelands to the South East and the frozen deserts of the North East, it’s a nightmare. People don’t try to carve out an existence in this forest because they _want_ to. They have no other choice. They’re all just trying to survive the only way they know how, and sometimes those ways differ from others. That’s where people butt heads and that’s where Dean and Sam make their living. Because that’s what _they_ know.

Without another word, Dean turns on his heel and stalks off down the street. This time, the Druid and his sad eyes don’t follow. He doesn’t like how that this whole thing has started to feel _wrong_. The official – who never even gave his name – said nothing about the forest dwellers being here _before_ the town. And they have a Druid on their side! Druids maintain the balance of things. If the town is threatening the balance, then of course he’s going to be pushing back against it. And if there’s a sacred site in the forest that he’s guarding – well, this town will have more luck packing up and moving.

For now, he’s going to have to keep this information to himself. Sam might be a Barbarian with a tendency to fall into a frenzy, but his heart is big and soft. The official made it sound like the forest dwellers are thieves – nothing more than raiders. The presence of a Druid changes things _drastically_. If they back out now, they won’t get paid. If they don’t get paid, they won’t be able to afford enough rations to make it to the next town.

But this is going to leave a _hell_ of a foul taste in his mouth.

*

“Try not to go straight into a frenzy, okay?” Dean doesn’t need to reference his book to prepare the ingredients for his spell; pulling them out and mixing as needed while they walk. “We’re just going to give them a bit of a scare and test how they’ll react. I’ll hit you with the _Haste_ and _Shield_ , and I already enchanted your axe again.”

“I can tell.” Sam hefts it, tossing the massive thing from hand to hand with a little bit of a float between each catch. “Light as a feather.”

Dean doesn’t like hiding things from Sam, but he hasn’t mentioned the Druid yet. There are things he needs to see with his own eyes first. “Use your strength, Sam, and give them a show. Swing that brute of yours and chop down a few trees. Won’t take much for them to figure how easy it’ll go through a person if it comes to that.”

Sam’s grip tightens and he takes a deep breath. “Got it.”

“I’ll lay down some cover fire if it comes to it.” He pats his bag with his staff. “But all we want is to scare them out of their camp and move them out.”

“So stay out of the frenzy.” Sam nods in agreement. “Got it. I’ll do my best.”

It’s usually the first hit or first blood that kicks it all off. If these people are what Dean thinks they are, then they won’t attack. They’ll scatter – just as they do when the town guards show up whenever they’re going after the farms and the loggers. Taking out their camp with a good fire spell should be enough to convince them to pack up and move.

Movement in the trees ahead catches their attention. A crow caws and swoops by overhead. Dean’s breath catches in his throat when he spots the Druid walking calming around the bushes that circle the bases of some of the trees. He has his staff in hand, but he’s missing the hooded hide of a cloak he was wearing earlier. Somehow he looks _more_ threatening in his autumn colours.

His pants are loose but short and tied at the knee; a sash tied around his waist. The Druid’s chest is bare save for tattoos and various necklaces, and the hide braces covering his forearms. And the horns! That might be the most unnerving. On his head is part of the skull of a deer, the bleached antlers almost glowing in the late afternoon shade of the forest.

“Dean…” Sam hesitates slightly and glances back at him. “That’s a Druid. They never said anything about there being a _Druid_.”

Yes, that does tend to change things, doesn’t it?

“We’ll do the job as we’re supposed to, Sam.”

He still hangs back. Just enough for Dean to know that even _he_ thinks this is wrong. But a job is a job and he can tell when Sam makes up his mind. His whole body tenses briefly before he’s charging forward. The sharpened blade of his axe slices clean through trees on either side of him as he powers towards the Druid. If he doesn’t get out of Sam’s way, he’ll barrel right through him. There’s very little that can stop him when he gets going.

Few things like… that.

The Druid takes his staff in both hands and raises it above his head. Sam is maybe a half dozen yards from him when he drives the base of the staff into the ground with a murmur of words that Dean can’t hear from this distance. What he _does_ hear is the wet rippling noise of the very ground changing beneath their feet.

From the point where the staff is imbedded in the ground, water gushes up. It rushes forward in waves that crash against Sam and definitely slow him down. He’s not in a frenzy yet, so he _can_ stop on his own if he wants to. This definitely makes him pause, but he keeps moving forward even as the ground under him goes soft and muddy, sucking at his feet. Water is swirling around his knees and working its way up his thighs, slowing him down.

Damn Druids and their ridiculous nature magic! Dean hikes his bag high up his chest and braces himself as the water reaches him. It strikes at his knees, but hardly causes him to stagger. He finds his footing and waits it out, though he hates that he’s going to be wet now. One of his least favourite things is being wet while fully clothed. Dean will gladly strip naked and dance in the rain as long as his clothing and affects stay dry.

“Dean!” Sam shouts and draws his attention back to the matter at hand, and Dean’s blood runs cold.

The Druid is gone.

His staff still stands and water still flows from it. Sam is stuck where he stands, mired in the mud of the swamp and the vines slowly creeping around him. It’s only a matter of moments before he descends into the berserker frenzy and does everything _beyond_ his power to get free. After that, the only thing that will stop him is Dean’s sleep spell.

The water next to him ripples dangerously and Dean bites back a scream as a river beast surfaces next to him. Its pointed snout, filled with glinting teeth, is inches from his leg. Dean tries to stagger backward, but the mud has him stuck fast. The vines and lily pads spreading across the water haven’t reached him yet, but he’s definitely not going anywhere unless the Druid releases his spell. But apparently he’s summoned a Gods-be-damned _water dragon_.

And then the dragon speaks in the same deep voice that had spoken to him in the marketplace. “Put your Barbarian to sleep, Wizard.” The dragon swims a lazy circle around him, fat body and long tail undulating in a dangerous glide. Only the end of its snout and its eyes actually break the surface of the rushing water. “And I’ll release you both.”

Damn Druids and their ridiculous shapeshifting magic.

“Once Sammy goes berserk, this isn’t going to stop him. It’ll just slow him down a little.”

“You were hired under a false truth.” The form of the water dragon shimmers and shifts until the Druid rises out of the water, dry as a bone. “Calm your brother and come with me to my home. Come learn the true history of this place.”

For what it’s worth, the Druid _does_ look sincere. And Dean hasn’t met a Druid yet who lies. Lying upsets the balance. They’re just too damn _righteous_.

The Druid’s hand touches his shoulder and it feels like a brand. “Please.” He squeezes. “You have good in you. I can feel it. All I ask is that you come with me and you _listen_. And if it’s only gold that inspires you – then I will pay you more than the town ever would.”

It makes Dean feel queasy in the pit of his stomach because that actually makes him consider it. But he’s also an outsider to all of this. What does he care about what goes on between the forest dwellers and the townies? They could just as easily take a different job, earn enough coin to buy the supplies they need, and then leave this all behind them.

But the Druid’s touch is soft and warm. His eyes are earnest, and there’s a hopeful smile quirking in the corner of his lips. Looking at him, Dean doesn’t feel any malice. There’s no evil in this man and that – Gods-be-damned – that makes all the difference.

Sam roars and it echoes across the small swamp, sounding more bear than man. Dean reacts without thinking and casts the sleeping spell with a gesture of his staff. He lowers it slowly as he realizes what he’s done.

“Okay. I’ll listen.”

**To Be Continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have received a prompt to continue this specific AU. It hasn't come up yet in my queue, but when it does I will link the continuation at the end of this "chapter".


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury, Donna Hanscum
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Mature, Alternate Universe - Modern, Charlie POV, BDSM undertones, established relationship, office romance
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _grangerdanger-xo: Office!AU with light dom!Dean and sub!Cas tones. Dean is head of marketing and Cas is his secretary. Their relationship develops and the employees suspect they’re dating but no one has any confirmation until they overhear something interesting on an accidental speakerphone call._

**PROMPT #27**

“Castiel?” Dean’s voice drew everyone’s attention, not just his secretary.

Charlie is aware that several heads in the bullpen, as they like to call their cubicles, turn to look over the walls and watch as Cas stands up from his desk near Dean’s office. She doesn’t look, but her cubicle is the closest to them both and the walls aren’t very high. Peripheral vision is all she needs to keep an eye on things without having to gawk like the rest.

“Yes, sir?”

Dean is standing in his doorway with papers in hand, flipping through them and not once looking up. “Could you stay a little later after closing? I need to do the performance evaluations and I want to start with yours.”

“I can stay, sir.”

“Great, thanks.” Dean lifts his head to throw him a smile before glancing out at the rest of the office. Everyone quickly looks away. After a moment, he raises his voice so everyone knows they’re _supposed_ to be listening now. “I’ll be starting with the rest of you on Monday. Watch your calendars for the appointment Castiel will be putting in there.”

There’s a murmured chorus of understanding and Dean turns to head back into his office. After a moment, he steps out again. “Castiel, please bring me all the employee files.”

“Yes, Mr. Winchester.” Cas is already pulling open the filing cabinet before Dean is done talking.

He disappears into the office with a stack of folders and, surprisingly, shuts the door behind him. Now _all_ heads turn again. As soon as the door shuts, the whispering starts. Charlie’s desk faces a window, but she shares a cubicle wall with Donna. She’s sweet and cute, but a total office gossip. The moment the coast is clear, Donna is standing up and leaning over their shared wall, eyebrows already waggling.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think it’s none of our business.”

Donna huffs and flicks Hermione’s head where she stands on Charlie’s desk, making it bobble. “Oh, come on. You’ve known Dean for _years_. Give us the inside scoop! He’s the only one who calls Cas by his full name. Haven’t they known each other a lot longer?”

“They met in University.” Charlie finishes with highlighting numbers on her spreadsheet and turns to enter them into her computer. “Cas left school earlier because of family drama, as Dean put it, and they didn’t see each other again until he was hired here. Dean had no idea Cas even applied to work here.” She glances at Donna pointedly. “And we were all here when HR came to introduce his new secretary.”

Donna grins, bright and wide. As if anyone could forget that – especially all the people who are _convinced_ that there’s more to Dean and Cas’s relationship than just a professional one. Too many people in the company, not just in the marketing department, have seen Dean and Cas out and about in town. They’re clearly friends outside of work, but there’s _suspicions_ about it being more than that. There’s even a betting pool going on!

Charlie, being one of Dean’s best friends and only having this job because of him, hasn’t participated. Even if she’s not the biggest fan of working in this department or having her best friend be her boss, the pay more than makes up for it. But, being on the inside, she’s privy to more information than anyone else and would never tell anyone anything about what she knows.

For instance, Charlie was the one who helped Dean get over his broken heart (and she means that it all seriousness) when Cas had to quit University and move back home to help with his family. They were absolutely _way_ more than good friends in school and even Charlie was convinced that Cas was Dean’s _The One_ ™. So, of course it was the surprise of all surprises when Cas showed up here.

At least it was for Dean.

Charlie may or may not have been following Cas online for a long time, just keeping an eye on him. Through that she had learned that he was coming back here to finish his classes and was looking for a job to work with his night classes. There were a lot of positions available with the company at that time, and Charlie may have reached out to Cas and suggested applying. She never expected him to get the position of Dean’s _secretary_ , but everything worked out in the end, didn’t it?

Dean and Cas picked up their relationship exactly where it had left off and they’ve been going strong ever since. That was almost a year ago. Human Resources is aware that they’re dating and as long as they keep it out of the office, then no issues there! They’ve strived to keep things professional, and Charlie thinks they’ve done a good job, but not good enough if the _entire department_ thinks something is going on between them.

Before Donna can make any further comment, her phone rings. It’s the sharp triple ring meaning that it’s from within the building and not an outside call. She sits back down and picks up the receiver, putting it to her ear. Her mouth opens to say her usual greeting ( _“Hi, this is Donna._ ”) but it just stays open and no words come out. Donna’s eyes go almost comically wide and she slaps at her keypad.

She must have gone for the mute button, because her next words don’t make any sense. “Oh my God. Oh my _God_.”

“What?”

“Listen!” Donna leans over with the receiver still to her ear, head angled to mean that Charlie is supposed to put her ear next to hers too.

Charlie rolls her eyes but stands up to do it anyways. She wishes she hadn’t.

“ _Stop worrying about the phone, Cas.”_

_“Are you sure? It’ll only take me a second to pick it up.”_

_“If you bend over to pick it up right now, I can’t be accountable for what I’ll do next.”_

There’s a quiet moan in response and Charlie slaps a hand over her mouth when she realizes that was Cas. Donna makes a quiet squeaking noise when the tail end of the moan gets muffled. It takes way too long for Charlie to realize that the soft sounds they’re hearing now is Dean and Cas _making out_. So much for keeping their relationship out of the office.

“ _I can’t wait until everyone leaves_.” Dean groans and there’s a shuffling sound of papers hitting the floor. “ _Are you still wearing the plug from this morning? Show me._ ”

Both Charlie and Donna gasp at the same time, making them both miss Cas’s answer. It must have been the right one though, because Dean’s voice pitches into a deep groan.

“ _You’re such a **good boy** , Cas. I’m so lucky that you’re **mine**._” Cas makes a soft sound and wow, they really should _not_ be listening to this. “ _Can you keep it on until the end of the day? Do that and I’ll show you **just** how much I appreciate it. Right here. On my desk.”_

Oh God. Charlie knew that Dean had some dominant tendencies in the bedroom. He was the first person she came out to, and he came out to her at the same time as being bisexual. There have been hints that he’s into stuff like this, but she never pressed about it. And Charlie definitely had _no_ _idea_ that he’d found a submissive in Cas. She never would have thought Cas, in all his stoic façade, would be a sub.

Charlie finally gets over her surprise and pulls away. “You need to hang up.”

“I _definitely_ need to hang up.” Donna drops the phone back onto its cradle like it burned her. She’s flushed, but she looks more horrified than aroused. “This didn’t happen, right?”

“Right. Nothing happened. No need to tell anyone else about this, right?”

“Right.” Donna nods in agreement, maybe a little too forcefully.

They both sit down and turn back to their computers. No one else seemed to have been paying either of them enough attention to question why they’re both sitting rigid in their seats.

It’s a good fifteen minutes more before Cas comes out of Dean’s office. Charlie has no idea how he does it, but there isn’t a hair or piece of clothing out of place and he looks just as indifferent as usual. Dean’s door remains open and, from her desk, Charlie can see that everything is as neat and perfect as usual. She shares a tightlipped look with Donna before going back to work.

Charlie does, however, make a mental note to leave names out of this and tell Dean that he’s not being as sneaky as he thinks he is.

**END**


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Mature/Explicit, Alternate Universe - Gods/Spirits, era unspecified, jen plays fast and loose with myths and legends, pre-relationship, mutual pining, getting together, first time, first kiss
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _onedayclosertoheaven: Dean finds a god in a cave that he wants to take home with him, but the only way to release the god is through an ancient sex ritual. ([Follow up to Prompt #10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646261/chapters/46231996))_

**PROMPT #28**

[Continuation of Prompt #10](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646261/chapters/46231996)

Castiel paces the length of his shrine; from the altar stone to the cave opening and back. His bare feet are silent on the cold floor. He keeps his shrine meticulously tidy. Using a broom he made from a broken branch and dried grass, Castiel sweeps out any dust, dirt, or insects. He uses an old rag, its origins he doesn’t even remember, to polish the fire basins, his altar, and the monolith that stands behind it.

For a lack of anything else to do, he has taken to keeping the tunnels leading to his shrine clean as well. If anyone was to visit, he wants to make it easy for them to find their way. Castiel did make it nearly foolproof this winter, if only because his first visitor in years had commented that he felt he would get lost quite easily if he were to try and find his way on his own.

After Dean’s first visit, his second was with his brother. Sam was _very_ grateful to have been watched over all these years and he had asked Castiel what he would like in gifts. At that, he had requested several lengths of rope – enough for him to string it from his shrine, through the tunnels, and to the opening of the cave system. On their next visit, they brought him it.

For his fourth visit, Dean had arrived at the cave to find a torch flickering in the wind just beyond the opening. It stood on a wooden post that Castiel had carved himself. He had collected a fallen tree, cut it, and made posts that stood ten feet apart with torches placed at their apex. Each post was connected by the rope that Sam had brought.

The torches only burn when Castiel knows that his visitors are coming. And he is _always_ aware of what Dean and Sam are doing. Particularly Dean. One of his fires is almost always focused on him if Castiel isn’t out in his _Amarok_ form, watching from a distance to ensure the two are safe.

Winter this year has been harsh. As much as Castiel tried to help them by leading animals into their traps, Dean and Sam haven’t had as productive a season as they usually do. They’ve gotten by, but Castiel has taken to refusing their offers of food. He doesn’t need to eat like they do. What meat they get should be saved for themselves.

But now winter is coming to an end. The spring thaw has come with the cracking of the ice on the river, and melting snow dripping from tree branches. It won’t be long now before the grass will start poking through. Once the trails are clear, Dean and Sam will be loading up their cart with the furs they’ve gathered this winter and take it to the town at the base of the mountain. After that, Sam will be the only one to return and Dean will continue his travels.

And that – Castiel is dreading that day.

He pauses in front of the basin with the mirror fire where it’s focused on Dean. The big rock he’s walking past now is only a few minutes up the trail from the entrance to the cave. Even though it’s warming up, it’s probably too cold for Dean to want to spend his visit outside. As such, Castiel starts up his pacing again and remains waiting in the shrine.

Three seasons. It will be _three whole seasons_ before Castiel will see him again. Sam will still visit, he’s sure. Between farming and trapping, Sam will come by with his offerings and thank him for watching over him. Castiel would, of course, continue to do that regardless. But that’s – is it wrong of him to be sad that he’s not _Dean_?

If it’s a question of their souls, Sam’s is very bright as well. Not quite as bright as Dean’s, but still clearer than the average person who might make the trek up into the mountains to hunt. But Dean is – Castiel can’t quite put his finger on it. He enjoys his time with them both, but Dean has gone out of his way to visit with him multiple times this winter. Sam only comes every other time, if that. But Dean will sit and talk with him, or on one of the warmer days they’ll go for a walk. Castiel has even taken his _Amarok_ form and let Dean ride on his back as he runs through the forest.

There’s a bond between them that never really developed with Sam. It runs deeper than his friendship with Sam – it’s more _profound_. And Castiel is loath to give it up.

“Cas!” Dean’s voice echoes through the caverns and tunnels, announcing his arrival. The torches are already lit to lead him to the shrine.

Rather than answer, Castiel waits where he is. He stops his fevered pacing to sit on the stone steps that lead up to the altar. And then he stands immediately and starts adjusting his clothing to make himself presentable. The fur of his cloak is soft and nearly gleams in the firelight. He keeps both it and his clothing as clean as possible now that he has visitors.

It’s only a few minutes before Dean enters the shrine. He spots Castiel almost immediately and a bright smile fills his face, even though half of it is hidden by his beard. “There you are.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel nods in greeting. He has a smile of his own, though he forces it to stay subdued. As much as he loves Dean’s visits, he doesn’t want to seem _too_ excited to have him here. The last thing Castiel wants to do is make him sad for not visiting more often.

“Miss me?” Dean laughs and drops a pack from his shoulders before removing his heavy outer clothing. It’s a joke, of course, since his last visit was only a handful of days ago.

All Castiel can do is smile in answer, biting his tongue to keep from saying what he truly wants to: _More than you could ever know_. He never realized just how very _lonely_ he’s been until this winter. Years have passed since he talked this much, and even then he has only been talking to himself. It’s so nice to speak with someone again – to smile and have it returned in kind.

“I brought you some stuff!” Dean grabs his pack and lifts the flap that covers the cinched top.

Curiosity gets the better of him and Castiel crosses the shrine to stand next to him. He leans forward, trying to see into the pack, but Dean angles his body to hide it. After rooting around in it for a few moments, he turns around with a bright grin and his arms full with a bundle of fur.

“Here we go!”

The fur is certainly well cured. Castiel runs his hands over it, surprised by how soft it is – even in comparison to his own fur in his _Amarok_ form. Before he can finish his inspection, Dean pulls away and takes the bundle to the altar.

He places it on the smooth stone and claps his hands together as he bows his head. “Oh Cas, great god of the mountain, please accept this humble offering as thanks for all the help you thought you were being sneaky about giving this winter.”

Castiel can feel heat crawl up the back of his neck and he takes a deep breath to will it away. He won’t give Dean the satisfaction of saying that he _was_ trying to be subtle with his aid. Even so, he looks distinctly amused when Castiel steps up next to the altar to unfold the fur. It’s a wonder to see how comfortable Dean has gotten with him since he first stumbled into the safety of the shrine. Sometimes, Castiel almost misses how he blushed and would trip over his words.

As much as he tries not to, it’s almost impossible not to read Dean’s soul on occasion. He is well aware that he is no longer feared and that the appreciation Dean had for his _Human_ form has grown. It wasn’t very surprising when he realized that the appreciation had become _attraction_ radiating from the halo of light that surrounds Dean’s whenever he looks at him. Castiel hasn’t acknowledged it (save for some light teasing that never fails to make Dean blush) because there hasn’t made any mention of it. If Dean wanted him to know, he would have said something by now, wouldn’t he have?

It’s certainly something that has plagued Castiel for at least half of the winter, and especially as the connection between them has deepened. His affection for Dean started as something more protective when he was a child, and that feeling extended to Sam as well. But then they grew up and Dean started travelling, and Castiel enjoyed the times when he was also on the mountain more than when he wasn’t. There’s something about him that has drawn Castiel for longer than he would dare to admit.

The fur turns out to be a bear skin. Castiel raises his eyebrows in surprise. “When did you get a _bear_?”

Dean covers his mouth, feigning shock. “You mean you aren’t watching me _all the time_?”

“Of course not.” He huffs and continues to unwrap the fur, well aware that the lump at its center is an additional offering. “I respect both your privacy and Sam’s.”

At the center of the fur, Dean has strips of jerky wrapped in a cloth _and_ a skin of wine. He knows exactly how much Castiel loves wine and how rare a treat it is for him. This is only the second time this winter that he’s given it as an offering. This time, however, it’s _full_.

Dean’s soul shines all the brighter with his delight when Castiel smiles at the offering. “Thank you, Dean. This is very generous of you.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugs and ducks his head; one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. The shine of his soul flickers and dims slightly, echoing with a sadness that Castiel can almost _feel_. “I wanted it to be a real good offering since this is probably going to be the last time I can visit before we head down the mountain.”

The part he leaves unspoken is still heard as clear as day. When they head down the mountain, Sam will be returning alone and Dean will continue with his travels until winter comes again.

Something pulls tight and painful in Castiel’s chest and his grip on the wine skin tightens briefly. “I see.” He looks down and relaxes his hold, lest he pop it and waste the wine. “I appreciate that you think so highly of me.”

“Well, when you’re not joking about eating me, you’re actually a pretty nice guy.” Dean smiles, but it doesn’t reach his soul. He pauses and his hand drops to fidget with the clasps of his coat. “Is – uh – Are you able to leave the mountain at all? I thought, maybe, that you might like to come to town with us? Y’know –” He waves his hand in the air. “I mean, it might be nice to get a change of scenery for a bit?”

Castiel keeps his expression neutral purely by pulling the cork of the wineskin and taking a long draw from it. It’s sweet but still burns down his throat, saving him from having to answer right away. But eventually, he has no excuse not to – though he can’t meet Dean’s eyes when he does. He can’t bring himself to see how his soul will dim with disappointment.

“I haven’t been able to leave the mountain since I died.” Castiel turns and gestures at the shrine. “I’m bound to this place.”

“Oh.” Dean does sound disappointed, but he swallows thickly and a false smile enters his voice. “Well, I just thought I’d ask.” He clears his throat and Castiel catches movement from the corner of his eye, watching as Dean rubs his hand over the bearskin. “We – uh – we thought this might be nice for you to use as a bed or something? When the grass grows, Sam will make a mattress for you so you’ll have yourself a proper bed with the best fur we’ve got.”

That’s very sweet of them, and Castiel doesn’t have the heart to tell them he can’t remember the last time he actually slept. Despite his physical form, he’s still technically a spirit. Even after all these years, Castiel doesn’t even know the full extent of his powers. Maybe he figured them all out already, or maybe he has barely scraped the surface of it.

His own smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he turns back again. “Thank you, Dean. The effort you both make for me is more kindness than I deserve.”

“Hardly!” Dean snorts and shakes his head. “Seriously, Cas, you’re the only reason that Sam and I have anything worth trading for this spring.”

“Wouldn’t this bearskin get you a lot? You would be better off trading it in town than giving it to me.”

Again, Dean shakes his head. He pushes the bearskin towards Castiel with a determined edge lighting his soul. “No way. We both decided to give it to you the moment we took that beast down. Especially since you’ve been watching over Sammy every year.”

Castiel opens his mouth to argue, but Dean holds up a finger to silence him. “Nope. It’s already been offered to a god. It’s _really_ bad luck to take an offering back.”

He presses his lips together into a thin line, but knows that he’s lost this argument – even if Castiel doesn’t really think himself a god. “Fine.”

Dean beams, quite literally, with his victory. “Great! Now let’s spread this baby out for a comfortable place to sit, and then you can continue with that story you were telling me last time.”

An ache reverberates through Castiel’s chest, but he still keeps the smile on his face. “If that’s what you would like to do, Dean, then I would be happy to do it.”

*

Sam has been excellent company this summer. They both miss Dean terribly, though neither speaks of it, but their friendship has grown considerably in the time. Castiel still watches over the mountain in its entirety, and everyone who hunts across its face, but he spends most of his time walking the forest with Sam as _Amarok_. It’s the best form to keep him safe from other dangers, though he tries not to help _too_ much when Sam hunts. That would make things too easy for him.

Just because they’re friends now doesn’t mean he should do everything for him. If he did that for Sam, he would need to do that for all the hunters. Castiel strives to be fair to everyone on his mountain.

Today is one of those days where he pads quietly beside Sam as they follow a game trail in search of deer. He can smell them far ahead in a meadow, but he makes no mention of it. Sam is silent next to him, eyes sharp and his crossbow steady in his hand.

A tingle runs the length of Castiel’s spine from the tip of his muzzle to the end of his tail. He lifts his head, ears cocked and nose turned into the wind. Another person has entered the border of the mountain. Sam watches him, eyebrow raised in silent question, as Castiel considers what to do next. Should he return to the shrine to check on the new visitor in the mirror fire? Or stretch his legs and take a brief run through the forest?

The wind will carry him much faster than any living creature could ever run and he would likely only be gone from Sam’s side for a few minutes. If he chose to hide himself, the new visitor wouldn’t even notice him even if he stood directly in front of them.

And then a voice reaches him; whisper quiet and carried on the wind. It’s distant, but Castiel’s hearing is infinitely better now than when he was alive. If he concentrated, he could probably hear a bird singing on the other side of the mountain.

Castiel holds his breath when he recognizes that voice. It’s many moons too early for it to be here, but his feet are carrying him towards it before he even realizes it. Sam doesn’t call after him. He’s well used to Castiel running off without a word during their walks together.

Only a matter of moments occur between the call and when Castiel skids to a stop on the trail that leads up the mountain from its base and eventually to Sam’s cabin. His cloak is missing, but there Dean stands with his usual pack strapped across his back. His heavy winter tunic and thick pants have been traded for a lighter, short sleeved shirt that he wears tucked into baggy pants, a scarf trailing at his hip as if it were his belt. The cuffs of his pants are tucked into hard soled boots, so different from the water proof leather ones that he wore during the winter.

If he wasn’t positive from scent alone that this was Dean, Castiel likely wouldn’t have recognized him at first glance. The biggest difference is that Dean is clean shaven. During the winter he and Sam both had thick beards that only grew longer as the season progressed. But here Dean stands with nothing more than the shadow of stubble along his jaw, his smile no longer obscured by facial hair.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s voice is soft and his soul warm as he approaches, palms held out until Castiel steps forward to push his head into the touch. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel steps forward to curl around him. He presses his side against Dean’s back and hooks his muzzle over his shoulder to rest their heads together. His tail twitches up, folding across Dean’s waist until he’s wrapped in the closest approximation to a hug that can be given in this form.

The familiar scent and the heat of his soul is astoundingly comforting to be in the presence of again. Castiel sighs softly and doesn’t stop himself from nuzzling against the side of Dean’s head. “I missed you a great deal.”

A steady hand runs through the thick fur around his neck and Dean leans heavily into him. “I missed you too, buddy.”

Would it be too much to think that would be the reason why he has returned so early? Castiel doesn’t dare hope. Instead, he allows himself to simply be happy that his dear friend has returned before the autumn season has even full begun.

After several long moments of enjoying each other’s presence, Castiel clears his throat. “Sam is hunting deer at the moment. Would you like me to take you to the cabin before joining him?”

Dean bites his lip and the gesture looks so different without his beard. It’s far more endearing than it has any right being. “Actually, could we go back to the shrine? I have something I – uh – I think we should really talk about first.”

There’s a tentative edge to his soul, and a heat to it that Castiel is confused by it. If he looked closer, Dean’s soul would reflect his thoughts well enough that he would understand without having to talk about anything. But they had a lengthy conversation about that once Dean got comfortable with him and realized that Castiel was never going to eat him.

“If that is what you wish.” Castiel crouches so Dean can climb on his back.

Once Dean is secured with his hands fisted in the scruff on the back of Castiel’s neck, he takes off at a loping gait. They have only once travelled together at his top speed, purely because Dean wanted to see how fast he could go. That trip had been _very_ short before Dean was shouting to slow down. Apparently man was not meant to travel that fast. Castiel hadn’t even tried to contain his laughter.

The entrance to the shrine is too small for them to enter together like this and Dean slides off his side when they reach it. He enters first and Castiel would have to crouch and enter almost on his belly in this form. Instead, he shifts into his Human form. That appreciative glow from Dean’s soul is all the more blinding in the dark of the cave – at least until Castiel waves his hand to light the torches along the path.

To his surprise, Dean reaches back to take his hand. He squeezes it tightly  before leading Castiel along the roped path through the tunnels to the shrine. Once there, Dean’s soul takes a shimmering edge of nervousness. He shifts on his feet as he shrugs his pack from his shoulders and drops it near the cavern opening. Without a word, he crosses the length of the shrine, climbs the few stairs that lead up to the altar, and plants a hand on it.

At first Castiel expects that he’s going to make an offering like he normally does, but Dean didn’t take anything from his pack and it doesn’t look like his clothing has any hidden pockets. To his surprise, Dean turns as he hops up to seat himself on the wide surface of the altar, once again facing Castiel. Now, though, his cheeks are flushed a dark red.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice is hushed in the echoing cavern, and he starts across the shrine with slow, unsteady steps. “You shouldn’t – You don’t know the gravity of what you’re doing.”

Anything placed on the altar and offered to him is _his_. Dean even said that it’s bad luck to take an offering from a god. If he offers himself, he will belong to Castiel to do with as he wishes until he decides he no longer has need of the offering. And – and Castiel is unsure if he would be able to give Dean up.

Instead of listening to the warning, Dean swallows thickly and rubs his hands together. He lowers his head and takes a deep breath before speaking. “Oh Castiel, great god of the mountain, I pray you accept this humble offering.”

Castiel takes the minimal stairs slowly and comes to a stop just shy of standing between Dean’s thighs. His hands fist in the fabric of his pants to keep them from shaking and to stop himself from reaching out to touch. There is nothing he can do to stop the slight waver in his voice. “And what do you offer?”

“Myself.” Dean answers with barely a whisper. He spreads his arms and holds them out, as if awaiting Castiel to fill them. “Mind, body, and soul. To do whatever you want with.”

A shiver skates through Castiel’s bones and he takes the final step in. Dean’s soul is a blaze of _desire_ and an affection that runs deep to the core of him. Even if he didn’t want to see the emotions reflected on its shining surface, Castiel doubts he would be able to miss it.

“If I accept your offering…” He breathes out softly in the bare space between them, and leans forward to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “You will be _mine_. Do you understand what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do.” Dean huffs, hands resting lightly on Castiel’s shoulders.

His hands find their way to Dean’s thighs, fingers skittering over the fabric of his pants before making their way to his hips. “And what is it that you ask for in return for your offering?”

During the winter, the offerings were given for his continued protection and what assistance he provided them. Is Dean giving himself as thanks for watching over his brother, or is it something more?

“In return… I ask for you to be mine too.” Dean murmurs, lifting his head until their noses brush together. “I came back so early because of _you_. Missed you like crazy.” He breaks into a smile that Castiel can practically _feel_. “You really did eat me the first time I was here, didn’t you? Ate my heart and made it so it can’t belong to anyone else, huh?”

“You didn’t sit on my altar then, Dean.” Castiel pulls Dean’s hips to the edge of the stone. “I don’t take what hasn’t been offered to me. But what you give me now, I gladly accept.” He tilts his head slightly, relishing in the intimacy. “And I grant you what you ask for. Gladly and wholeheartedly.”

For the first time, and hopefully not the last, Castiel gets to _taste_ Dean’s smile. He’s barely finished speaking before Dean’s arms fold around his shoulders and pull him close as he leans into a kiss. It’s soft, at first, and draws a rumbling growl from deep in Castiel’s throat. A wet swipe of a tongue traces the seam of his lips and he almost frowns at the feeling. Is this how Humans kiss?

In all truth, he’s never experienced this for himself, though he _has_ been witness to far too many young couples sneaking into the mountain forest for some privacy. Castiel knows what to do _in theory_ , but practice? All he has is his experiences from _before_ he died and became the guardian spirit of this mountain. And, well, he never had a Human form then. His entire life and his experiences before his death were as an _Amarok_.

“Open your mouth, Cas.” Dean’s soft voice breaks through the confusion and he traces his lips again. “I’ll show you something _really_ nice, and then all you have to do is copy me.”

When Castiel opens his mouth to ask a question, Dean licks past his lips and his tongue is very much _in Castiel’s mouth_. It’s absolutely the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him and it feels odd – in the beginning. And then Dean does something with his tongue against Castiel’s and _heat_ flashes down his spine. The tip of it tickles across his palette and a deep groan reverberates in his chest.

Time loses all sense of meaning, which is truly a feat for Castiel, as Dean takes the time to show him how to kiss. And it. Is. _Wonderful_. Dean has a somewhat sweet taste to him, like the wine that he has offered on the altar in the past. It’s addicting.

When they finally draw apart, Dean is panting heavily. Castiel is barely winded, but he also didn’t want to stop. He makes a low, unhappy noise when Dean leans back on his hands – moving in the exact _opposite_ direction that Castiel wants.

Dean tilts his head slightly, eyes and soul sparking with nothing short of pure delight and a deep rooted satisfaction. “So, were you all talk when you said you would devour me sweetly, or are you going to keep your word now?”

It takes far too long for Castiel to figure out what in the world he’s talking about. When the memory of their first meeting finally surfaces in the haze that fills his head, he can’t help the wicked grin that spreads across his face. Dean shivers slightly; eyes widening and breath turning short. Castiel tucks his hands under his thighs and lifts him from the altar as though he didn’t weigh a thing. Truthfully, he really doesn’t – strength being one of the gifts given to him after he died.

The bearskin that Dean gave before has been combined with the straw mattress Sam made during the spring. Castiel has put it all together to fashion himself a bed behind the stone pillar set behind his altar. Over the course of the summer, Sam even gave him an offering of a warm blanket to use. Castiel hasn’t had the need to ever really sleep, but he has enjoyed having somewhere warm and comfortable to relax when he wants to.

Dean wraps his legs around his waist and holds on tightly with his arms around his shoulders as Castiel carries him to the bed. He lays Dean out on it carefully. “Is this more of what you had in mind?”

“This _might_ have occurred to me once or twice when I was working the bearskin to give to you.” Dean grins as Castiel settles between his legs again. He reaches up to undo the clasp that holds the fur cloak around Castiel’s shoulders. “But I didn’t think you might actually let me share it.”

“You seemed fairly confident when you sat yourself on my altar.” He hums and starts picking at the knot holding the scarf around Dean’s waist. “How did you know that I would return your feelings?”

Colour returns to Dean’s cheeks and he glances away briefly. “Uh – liquid courage? I drank a _lot_ of wine before leaving town.” He stretches out as the scarf comes undone and Castiel starts untucking his shirt. “At the very least, I just wanted to see you again. And then you – uh – the way you greeted me really made me think I had a chance.”

Castiel leans down to kiss him again in lieu of answering. Dean makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and arches into the spread of fingers along his bare sides. He squirms and his laugh is muffled when his shirt is removed. This is the first that Castiel has seen so much of his skin and he can’t resist the overwhelming urge to _taste_ it.

Shaky fingers card through his hair as he leans over and runs his lips and tongue across every inch of skin he can find. Castiel traces every rib, follows the line of his stomach to the dip of his belly button, and mouths at the soft skin beneath it. Dean guides him with gentle pressure to his head. His soul reflects his pleasure whenever Castiel glances over a place he likes.

He’s so distracted with reading the shine of Dean’s soul to ensure that he’s doing a good job that it comes as a complete surprise when his vision is suddenly obscured by his own tunic. Castiel sits back on his knees and glances down, confused. “When did you undo my belt?”

“Sometime when you were leaving this.” Dean touches a darkening red spot along his collarbone. “I have the sneaking suspicion that you’re better at this than you lead me to believe.”

“It helps that you’ve been giving me silent directions.” Castiel taps his chest, directly over his heart and where his soul shines the brightest. He drags his fingers across Dean’s skin until he can thumb over one of his nipples. “Your whole soul trembled when I was kissing you here.”

Dean swallows thickly and his eyes flutter closed. “That’s because it feels _good_.” He groans and bats Castiel’s hands away. “Now it’s _my_ turn to make _you_ feel good.”

In a tensing of thighs and a flurry of movement that is _entirely_ unexpected, Castiel finds himself suddenly on his back. Dean grins down at him as he rocks onto his feet to crouch above him. He repositions himself between Castiel’s legs and unties the string holding his pants up.

He hooks his fingers in the fabric and raises an eyebrow. “Is this okay?”

“Of course.” Castiel lifts his hips so they can be pulled down.

The air in the shrine is warmed from the fires, but he can barely feel it. All he registers is the heat of Dean’s hands as they smooth along his body, reverent in their careful cataloguing. This is the first time that anyone has touched him and Castiel briefly wonders why he never did it before because it _does_ feel good. Even more so when Dean licks the palm of his hand and boldly wraps his fingers around Castiel’s weeping erection.

As good as that feels, their situations aren’t equal and he wants _more_. Castiel grabs his wrist to stop him before he can start stroking. “Take your pants off too.”

“You want to do it together?”

He nods and Dean sits back again to finish untying his own pants. They make it halfway down his hips, revealing his own straining erection, before he leans over Castiel. Dean holds himself up on one hand and lines their hips up enough that he can wrap a hand around them both. Sweat is already beading along his hairline. Castiel reaches up to push his hands through it, realizing for the first time that he also cut his hair while he was away. It was much longer during the winter, but he likes this too. It’s soft between his fingers.

And then Dean starts rocking his hips in a gentle motion, rubbing them together in the tight grip of his hand. It has stars sparking behind Castiel’s eyes and he brings his hands to Dean’s shoulders, finger tips digging in until the skin goes white beneath them. Very little in this world can steal his breath, but he’s finding himself panting within minutes. His back arches, trying to push up into that glorious sensation.

“ _Cas_.” Dean breathes his name from close above, his lips brushing Castiel’s forehead as his grip tightens briefly around them both.

Even with his eyes closed, Castiel can still see the glow of Dean’s soul. He can feel it like a fire burning his skin and he wants to sink into it; curl around that heat and never leave it. This is more than just a physical act celebrating Dean’s early return and the confirmation of their feelings for each other. This is the sealing of a pact – a heart for a heart.

When Castiel comes, Dean kisses him again and swallows the sound he makes. A few moments later, he follows suite but he doesn’t give Castiel the chance to taste his sweet cry. Dean buries his face in the crook of Castiel’s shoulder, gasping against his skin as he shudders through his own orgasm. It leaves a mess on his belly, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind slumping into it. He lies down on Castiel completely, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck.

“That –” Dean groans before rolling off to the side.

He doesn’t finish his thought, but Castiel still hums in agreement. It _was_ amazing – assuming that’s what he was planning on saying next. Despite his lack of experience with another person, Castiel is well versed in his own physical pleasure. It’s been a long, lonely afterlife as a pseudo-god on this mountain, and he occasionally had needs that had to be taken care of.

But life hasn’t been lonely since early last winter. It’s been _wonderful_ – except, of course, for the sadness that haunted him with Dean’s absence since the spring. And that’s when it occurs to him. Dean is a traveller in his core. He stays for the winter to help his brother, but otherwise the itch to move and see new sights is too strong. Just because he came home early this one time doesn’t mean that he won’t still want to travel.

If only Castiel could go with him. He loved this mountain when he first came to it, and he was more than content to live out his life here. But his afterlife too? Castiel never _wanted_ to be a guardian spirit. He did as was expected of him because he didn’t want to let down the people who believed in him. And then the traditions were lost and he was left alone – _forgotten_.

Seeing Dean come and go all those years made his heart yearn to see what else is out there. An _Amarok_ cannot travel freely in this world, but his Human form would be able to, wouldn’t it? How nice it would be to walk the world at Dean’s side; seeing all the sights that it has to offer.

“I wonder if it worked.”

Castiel is pulled from his thoughts and he turns his head to find Dean looking at him closely. He raises an eyebrow in confusion.  “If what worked?”

“The ritual.”

He frowns and props himself up on his elbows. “What ritual? Was this not an expression of our feelings for one another?”

“Oh it was most definitely that.” Dean sits up too and leans in to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “But I might have had ulterior motives.”

“Like _what_?” Castiel narrows his eyes and leans away, unsure if the bubble of betrayal forming in his chest is warranted or not.

Dean’s soul dims slightly and he shifts up onto his knees. “No, no, no. Don’t look like that!” He holds his hands up as if he were trying to soothe some kind of wild beast. “I really _did_ want to come back early to see you because I missed you _a lot_. And I really do definitely have feelings for you and have wanted to sleep with you since well before I left in the spring.”

Castiel still maintains his squint, but he relaxes somewhat. It does help that Dean’s soul, though dimmed in his panic, does reflect nothing but truth. Still, he bites his tongue and waits for the explanation of these supposed _ulterior motives_.

“You said you were bound to this place, right?” Dean gestures wildly at the shrine, though he never looks away. “Well instead of my usual wandering, I went to a big city to look through their library to see if there was some way to _free_ a spirit from being bound to one place.”

That small sense of betrayal vanishes, replaced with hope in an instant, and Castiel sits forward too. “Are you –” He reaches out to grasp Dean’s arm and is surprised to find that his hand is shaking. “Are you saying that you found a ritual to release me?”

“Not so much _release_ as it is – uh – to re-bind you to something else?” Dean shrugs one shoulder and gives a sheepish grin. “The translation was really shitty, but it basically said something along the lines of a guardian spirit like you is able to be bound to a particular person if they were made as an offering or sacrifice and – um – had _consensual_ _relations_.” He bites his lip and looks down at his hands. “I think it was more about the guardian spirit being able to possess the person, but that’s the gist of it.”

Castiel can’t do anything but stare at him. Could he really leave the mountain? Could he really see the world and stay at Dean’s side like he wants to? But if he leaves, who will guard the mountain? Who will protect the hunters and gatherers, and watch over Sam? Faced with the possibility of actually having freedom, Castiel is suddenly terrified.

“We can test if the ritual worked later.” Dean cups his face in both hands and leans forward until their foreheads touch. “And if you don’t want to leave here, you don’t have to. I’m not sure if you’re going to be forced to go where I go or not, but I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. I want you to have a _choice_ , Cas.”

“But you want to travel, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, but there’s a smile in his eyes and the affectionate glow from his soul threatens to consume Castiel entirely. “But I’d rather be with you.”

The conviction in his words, in the shine of his soul, is enough to steal Castiel’s breath away. He tilts his chin up, feeling that smile and the heat behind it against his lips. Whether it’s staying on the mountain or travelling the world, he knows then that he doesn’t care what it is. As long as he gets to stay by Dean’s side, he’ll be happy.

**END**


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (swearing), modern!AU, ace!Cas, bi!Dean, pining, mutual pining, pre-relationship, getting together, Dean POV
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: modern!AU – Dean just won the fucking mega millions. He has 78 million dollars in his bank account. Thankfully, he was allowed to remain anonymous, so no one knows. Castiel receives a fucking HUGE anonymous donation to get rid of his student debt and continue his education. Who the hell sent him this money??_

**PROMPT #29**

Dean stole Cas’s log-in information for his student loans and transferred the money a week ago to pay them all off. It’s not like he _forgot_ about it between then and now, but it’s not exactly on the forefront of his mind when he’s in the midst of hunting down the Covenant through a swamp. So when Cas’s phone gives its little double beep indicating that he got an email, he doesn’t even think twice about it.

Somewhere in the periphery of his vision, Dean catches Cas put his highlighter down and pick up his phone. After a few minutes, Cas gets up from the armchair where he’s been curled up studying for the last hour. He crosses the room and hits the button on the controller that pauses the game.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean puts the controller down, knowing that Cas wouldn’t interrupt him without a good reason – especially when he’s looking kind of pale and his hands are shaking slightly.

“Can you read this? I’m – I’m not sure I’m reading this right.” Cas passes him his phone.

The email on the screen is from a company with a name that Dean only vaguely recognizes. It takes him a few seconds for it to click as the one that Cas’s student loans are through. Then the situation takes a whole new meaning when the little light goes on in the back of his brain.

He clears his throat and fakes surprise. “Well – uh – it looks to me like it’s a congratulations email. Apparently your student loans are paid off?”

Cas’s frown deepens. “That can’t be right. I should still have over twenty thousand to go, and that’s not including what I was going to apply for to get my post-graduate degree.” He takes his phone back and starts tapping away at it. “There must be some mistake. Did my last automatic payment have an error? If my bank charges me an overdraft for this, I’m going to –”

He cuts off with a strangled noise and his eyebrows jump half-way up his forehead. Cas sways slightly on his feet before dropping heavily onto the edge of the seat next to Dean. “This – What?”

Dean leans over to peek at the screen, and notes that Cas has now logged into his banking app. He whistles at the numbers there. “Wow, that’s a hell of a lot of zeroes.”

“I – I – I –” Cas swallows thickly and points at his phone. “I have a _million dollars_.”

“That’s definitely going to get you through your masters degree, huh?” It’s _really_ difficult to keep himself from smiling or sounding stupidly smug.

“This isn’t my money, Dean!” Cas  waves his phone in his face. “Someone made a mistake somewhere and this money _isn’t mine_.” He looks wistfully at the screen for a moment before sighing. “I better go take care of this.”

Shit. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Cas is supposed to be _happy_ that he has that money. He’s supposed to be _happy_ that he doesn’t have to worry about how much it’s going to cost to get his masters without having to worry about working full time to being able to afford it. This was supposed to be a _good_ thing that Dean did for him, because he’s been in love with Cas for half his life at this point and he would _happily_ give Cas more money if that’s what would help him.

But Cas is off to his bedroom before he can formulate a way to explain that the money is absolutely in the right account without giving it away that _he_ was the one who put it there.

A few months ago, Dean won the mega millions lottery and chose to remain an anonymous winner. The last thing he needed was for even the most remotest family or friend to come crawling after him begging him for money – not that he doesn’t have enough to spare, but the fact of the matter is that he would _never_ be left alone, because the amount of money that Dean won is frankly disgusting.

Seventy-eight million!

What the hell is he supposed to do with _seventy-eight million_? Well, in his case, whatever Dean had left after the government took their cut was invested. That left him with around thirty-nine million to play around with. That’s still an absurd amount of money and Dean had to hire an accountant to take care of all the management aspects so he doesn’t have to.

With that thirty-nine million, Dean has already taken four million and split it between a bunch of different charities. He actually sat down and researched which ones put _most_ of the donations towards actually helping people. There are a bunch of charities out there where the money goes more to the employees than it does the people they’re supposed to be helping and that doesn’t sit right with him. You shouldn’t be lining your pockets with money that’s supposed to help the needy.

As of yet, Dean hasn’t managed to figure out a way to give money to the family members who actually deserve it. He’s paid off his parents’ house and their vehicles, as well as Sam’s car. He paid off Sam’s student loans and Cas’s, all anonymously of course, but that doesn’t seem to be working in his favour. It’s only a matter of time before Sam calls him freaking out about this too.

But what if Cas looks at him differently if he tells him that he’s the one who paid it all off? Is Cas going to hate him for just _giving_ him the money? Or will money change him and he’s going to turn around and ask for more?

Cas is his _best friend_. They’ve known each other since kindergarten. By the time they graduated high school together, it was more or less a given that they were going to move in together. They rented a little one bedroom place and converted the living room into a bedroom because it was cheaper that way and it wasn’t like either of them was swimming in money. Dean went straight into the workforce and Cas started University while working full time. He’s almost done with his undergraduate degree and he still has his masters to get through before he’ll be finished school.

The thing is, as much as Dean loves Cas, he’s pretty sure a relationship is never going to happen between them. Cas has no sex drive to speak of. He falls pretty securely on the ace spectrum and has absolutely no interest in it. Dean, meanwhile, _loves_ sex. It’s not the be all end all of a relationship for him, and he would totally be willing to try a sexless relationship with Cas – if Cas ever wanted one. But he’s been single _forever_.

Whenever his family questions him about it, Cas has made it a point time and time again to stress that he has no interest in dating. Though he’s never outright said it, Dean is pretty sure that Cas also falls on the aromantic spectrum too. They did a lot of research on this when Charlie, another good friend of theirs, came out as a lesbian when they were freshman in high school. The research led them both to realize things about themselves – Dean that he was bi and Cas that he was asexual.

As far as Dean knows, none of that has changed over the years.

So if he can’t date Cas like he wants to, the least he wants to be able to do is be there for him. Now that Dean has an insanely hefty bank account, why can’t he also be there for him monetarily? If they were dating – hell, if they were _married_ (in a perfect world) – Dean would absolutely take care of everything. They would never have to worry about financial insecurity again. It would be _great_.

They could get a house together that needs a little fixing up. It would have a big backyard for family barbeques and for those dogs that Cas has always wanted. A little white picket fence in the front. A garden that they could spend weekends tending. A big garage where Dean could have all the tools he could ever want to renovate the house and take care of the Impala. And maybe, eventually, the pitter-patter of little adopted feet.

Dean’s fantasy life with Cas has been thought through extensively on those late nights when he’s having trouble sleeping. Or when either one of them has a nightmare and crawls into the other’s bed for some much needed comfort. On those nights, Dean sometimes watches Cas sleep and wishes they could share a bed together _every night_.

God, he’s such a fucking _sap_. And he’s entirely gone on Cas.

Back in reality, he should have gone _after_ Cas instead of just sitting on his bed staring at his paused _Halo_ game like an idiot. Swearing under his breath, Dean gets up and heads for Cas’s bedroom. He knocks once before opening the door, only to find him sitting on his bed and staring at his phone.

Cas lifts his head to fix him with a squinty eyed stare. “If you won the lottery, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh –” He always thought he would – but then he was presented with the curious case of _seventy-eight million dollars_ and the sudden realization that he was going to be a hell of a target if he said anything to literally anyone about it. Not that he doesn’t trust Cas, of course. But he hasn’t even told his own family!

There’s steel to Cas’s voice when he speaks again. “You wouldn’t have won the lottery, paid off my student loans, and given me a million dollars _without telling me_ , would you?” The grip on his phone has gone white-knuckled.

Shit. _Shit fuck piss balls ass_. Did Dean fuck up? He thought Cas would be _happy_.

Cas holds up his phone, showing his bank app again. This time he’s looking at his account history and where it shows that a random string of numbers transferred him the money. “Because I don’t know about you, Dean, but that looks like _your_ bank account number.”

“How the hell would you know what my bank account number looks like?”

To answer, Cas scrolls further up to the beginning of this month’s statement. There, on the first, it shows the same string of numbers but this time it’s attached to _outgoing_ money. “Because that’s the same account where I transfer my share of the rent.”

Well, damn. That wasn’t something he foresaw. But he’s been caught out and there’s no point in any secrecy now, right?

“Okay, yes. I won the entire mega millions jackpot a few months ago.” Dean holds up his hands when Cas opens his mouth to interject. “But! In my defense, I haven’t told _anyone_ that I won. Sammy doesn’t know. Not even my parents know.”

With a sigh, Cas puts his phone down and rubs his hands over his face. “I am not a charity case, Dean. I don’t care how much money you won. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course I didn’t.” Dean crosses his arms. “And you’re not a charity case. But I have more money than I know what to do with and why shouldn’t I use it to help the people I love? I paid off all my parents’ debt too, and Sammy is going to have a full ride to University now. I’ve donated to a ton of charities and I could stop working now and be set for several lifetimes but that would drive me crazy.”

“What about your other friends?” Cas crosses his arms too. “Did you give Charlie a million dollars and pay off her student loans too?”

Dean shrugs and looks away. “Not _yet._ I just haven’t been able to get a hold of her bank information.” Because of _course_ she has to be completely paperless and make it impossible for him.

Cas stares him down for a few long moments before lowering his hands. “So, you did this for me because you’re going to do it for everyone you’re close to?”

“Yes?”

“And you’re aware that I’m fully planning on continuing to pay my own way and in no way will be dependent upon you to pay for everything?” He raises an eyebrow and Dean wants to shrink in on himself under that look.

He hugs himself a little tighter. “It was meant as a _gift_ , Cas. You’re supposed to keep those.”

“Gifts aren’t usually _a million dollars_ , Dean.”

“In this case, it is.”

“You are making this very difficult for me.”

“It’s really not that hard.” Dean shrugs and makes a vague gesture before crossing his arms again. “All you gotta say is _thank you_ and accept that you’re now a bit of a millionaire.”

Apparently all Cas can do is shake his head. “And you’re a _multimillionaire_.” He runs a hand over his face again. “What do you even do with that much money?”

Dean steps over to slump down next to him. “Be _really fucking careful_ is what.”

The next few minutes are filled with Dean explaining what he’s already done with some of the money – investing, donating, etc. Cas listens carefully, asking a question here or there (like which charities). He’s still not as happy about the gift as Dean would like him to be, but maybe he just didn’t go about things right. For instance, he _knew_ that Cas doesn’t like hand outs. He likes earning things through hard work and apparently being best friends for ninety-five percent of their lives doesn’t exactly count.

At the end of it, Cas leans his head against Dean’s shoulder. “How much is this going to change things?”

“Uh, not a lot, hopefully?” Out of habit, he slings his arm around Cas and hugs him close, tilting to rest his head on top of his.

“You mean you’re not going to buy a big fancy house and more cars than you could ever drive?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone. “With the money you’ve _gifted_ me, I suppose I could afford to live on my own _and_ complete my masters degree without having to work for a while.”

Dean muffles a laugh into Cas’s hair. “When have you _ever_ known me to be the kind of guy who wants that bullshit? I’ve got the Impala and our shitty little apartment. I don’t need anything more than that.”

Cas goes still just a bit before taking a slow breath. “So you’re not going to move out?”

“Hell no!” Dean shakes his head. “If I’m moving out to a better place, I’m taking you with me.” He sighs and squeezes Cas tight. “Home isn’t home without you.”

An arm snakes around his waist and Cas turns into him for a half-hug. “If you want to move because we can afford a better place now, then I wouldn’t mind that. But I insist that I pay my share of the rent and don’t you _dare_ give me any more money.”

“What about gifts?”

“No.” Cas grinds the top of his head against Dean’s cheek. “I don’t need or want a sugar daddy. If you buy me a car or anything more than a damn meal at McDonalds like you used to, I _swear_ that I will skin you alive.”

Dean fakes a wince and pulls away laughing. “Fine, fine! Nothing more expensive than a meal at McDonalds.” His laughter stops short when an idea occurs to him. “But how about I buy you a business?” He holds up his hands when Cas goes to berate him again. “No, no, hear me out. You finish that degree of yours. Get your masters in business administration like you wanted. And then, when you’re all shiny and certified… We create a charity together. I’ve got the funding to get it off the ground, and you’ll have all the business-y know-how to _keep_ it off the ground.”

Cas’s jaw snaps shut audibly because Dean knows his best friend and he knows that kind of thing is _right_ up his alley. There’s no way that Cas would be able to say ‘no’ to something like that. He narrows his eyes, as if that will somehow help him see through any kind of deception.

Eventually, he sighs. “I’ll think about it. Ask me again when I have my degree in hand.”

“Will you want me to get down on one knee?” He waggles his eyebrows to mark it as a joke, but in truth Dean would _absolutely_ ask Cas to marry him if he thought he stood any sort of chance.

“You’re an idiot.” Cas sighs and shoves him back as he stands up.  “I have no idea why I love you.”

Dean catches himself on his hands before scooting back to lie across the bed; ignoring the twinge in his chest those words cause. “Because I’m awesome, duh. If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t have put up with me for this long.” He pats the spot next to him and Cas hesitates a minute before crawling onto the bed and lying next to him. “But, for the record, I love you too.” And he _means_ it, in all ways.

Cas rolls onto his side and curls against Dean, throwing an arm over his stomach and nestling his head on his shoulder like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Good. And thank you. For the wonderful gift and for not dumping me for new friends the moment you won all that money.”

“If it seems like it’s changing me, I want you to punch me in the dick as hard as you can.”

“Cross my heart.” They both laugh a little at that, and then Cas lifts up enough to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek. He pauses before he puts his head back down. “I’ll punch you in the dick this instant if you _dare_ to think that was because you’re filthy rich now.”

Dean stares at the ceiling in silence for a few minutes, processing the first kiss he’s ever received from Cas that wasn’t from a dare or a game of spin-the-bottle in a pot-smoke filled basement at a high school party. He takes a deep breath. “I thought you were –”

“Asexual doesn’t mean I’m not interested in the intimacy afforded by a relationship. I’m fully capable of experiencing _romantic_ love.” Cas shrugs slightly and cuddles closer, especially when Dean gets an arm under his shoulders to help pull him in. “I might not feel sexual attraction or the desire for sex, but that doesn’t mean I _can’t_ have it. It might just take some time to get me in the mood.”

Is this – What? Is this an actual thing that’s really happening? Is Cas actually admitting to wanting a relationship with him? But – they were- and – “Why _now_?”

As much as he loves Cas and as well as he knows him, Dean can’t exactly silence that one little voice of doubt that points out that Cas never showed interest until _after_ money became a thing.

“Because it seemed like a silly thing to keep to myself after you just did an amazingly selfless thing for me, on top of basically promising me my dream job?” Cas tightens his grip slightly. “Because you’re not going to brush me off or let the money change you? Because if I didn’t act sooner or later, I would have been old and gray before you realized that I’ve been in love with you for years?”

Dean groans and covers his face with his free hand. “Or you could have told me back then and we could’ve been together this whole damn time?”

“You were dating Cassie at the time. It felt like poor taste to ask you out then.”

Cassie was one of Dean’s first girlfriends and she was in Sophomore year. That was over ten years ago. Has Cas _really_ been in love with him for that long? Well, to be fair, Dean has loved him for longer and everyone he’s gone out with were kinda distractions. He did care for each of them in their own way, but none of them were Cas.

Instead of continuing what could potentially be a dangerous thread of conversation. Dean turns his head to press a kiss to Cas’s forehead. “Want to go house hunting with me this weekend?”

“You want a house?”

“Oh baby, let me tell you _all_ about the home I wanna have with you.”

**END**


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Claire Novak, Jack Kline
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (swearing), modern!AU, tax accountant!Cas, mechanic!Dean, Dean!POV, not first person, pre-relationship, mild crushing, some flirting
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Even at 5 years old, Claire is a leader. Her foster-brother, Jack, doesn’t seem to mind how strong willed she is and is happy to follow her wherever she wants to go. Today, that happens to be right out of their Uncle’s office and into the Garage next door. They were promised time at the park and Claire is tired of waiting for business calls to be over._

**PROMPT #30**

Dean takes his finger off the button that runs the machine he has hooked up to the car to make the wheels turn while he’s underneath it. It’s jacked up completely off the ground and sitting a good two feet above him, but he wants to watch all the moving bits underneath to see if he can spot if the loose rattling piece is down here before he starts picking everything under the hood apart by hand.

He cocks his head to the side, listening for what he thought he might have heard while everything was moving and the machine gears were whining. When he doesn’t hear anything, he pushes the button– and immediately lets it go _again_. Either he’s hearing things, or there’s a _child_ talking somewhere nearby. Which should be impossible because there shouldn’t be any kids in the garage. There’s _way_ too many ways for them to get hurt in here and none of the other mechanics would dare bring their kids back here without first announcing it to everyone.

“Hey, _mister_. It’s _rude_ to ignore people, ya know!”

Oh _fuck_.

He drops the button and wheels himself out from underneath the car. Dean sits up on the creeper and – Yup. There they are. Standing against the wall not far from him are two kids; a boy and a girl, probably around five years old? Dean has always been fucking _terrible_ at guessing a kids’ age. Are five year olds fully articulate? Fuck if he knows. The last time Dean was around a kid, it was as someone’s date to a child’s birthday party only to find out the child belonged to an ex of his, no dad in sight, and a birthday that was worryingly placed to the last time he and his ex had slept together.

Spoiler alert: he was _not_ the father.

The boy is wearing a long sleeved black and white striped shirt underneath a pair of overalls with some kid’s show character on the chest. He’s got little Velcro shoes over a pair of socks covered in characters that match the one on his chest. The girl is wearing a blue tutu over shockingly pink tights and her own _Mary Jane_ flats. Her shirt has puffed shoulders and Dean recognizes it as a shirt-version of Anna’s dress from _Frozen_. Kinda easy to recognize since Anna and Elsa are also on her chest.

“Uh, where did you come from?” Dean glances around, but he’s the only one in the garage right now.

From what he remembers, Bobby is holed up in his office drowning in paperwork, and Benny was doing a test drive on another vehicle to see if he fixed the suspension issue or not. Jo and Donna are out for their lunch break, and if they don’t pick him up a sandwich then there is going to be _hell_ to pay. No one else is supposed to be in right now, and he doesn’t see anyone waiting in the lobby where Becky is silently working behind the front desk. And she _never_ would have let a couple of kids just wander right past her and into the garage. The bell above the access door would have got her attention if she didn’t notice them first.

The little girl, her blond tied up in curly pigtails, points at the open garage door behind Dean. “From there.” She sighs and rolls her eyes, as if Dean asking that question is only wasting her time. “Now you gonna listen, or _not_?”

Wow. _Attitude_.

 Dean makes a ‘ _go ahead_ ’ gesture and waits.

“We need a car.” She huffs, and the boy next to her – just a tad shorter and still pretty chubby cheeked – nods in agreement.

Okay, they’re here for a reason. Which means they’re not lost and they came into the garage on purpose and not to look for help. Still, Dean isn’t about to agree to let some kids have a car, and he’s sure as hell not going to take them anywhere. That would be _kidnapping_ and he had enough trouble with the law when he was a teenager that he doesn’t need any more now that he’s in his thirties.

“And – uh – where do you want to go with the car?”

“To the park.” The girl huffs, frowning at him like he’s the sole reason she’s _not_ at the park yet. “It’s too far for Jack to walk. He’s _slow_.”

The boy – Jack, presumably – shoots her a dirty squint before looking at the floor. He sighs and deflates slightly before nodding.

“Oh-kay.” Dean gets to his feet but stays squatted with his ass on his heels. “And where’s the adult that’s gonna be taking you there, huh?”

“He’s _busy_.” She lets go of Jack’s hand to cross her arms and looks away sharply, making her little pigtail curls bounce. “We don’t _need_ him. We can go to the park alone!”

Attitude aside, the kid is pretty cute. Dean can’t shake the mental image of a kitten all puffed up and spitting, trying to look brave. He shakes his head and puts on his most charming of smiles – the kind that’s never let him down when it comes to dealing with women before. It’s never been tested on a five year old, but he hopes it has the same effect.

“I get’cha. But I gotta know where he is, though.” Dean nods sagely, hoping that he can make them think he’s speaking gospel. “It’d be real bad for me to let you borrow a car to go to the park without telling him which car you’re gonna be taking, right?”

There’s a long pause where the girl and Jack share a look. Some sort of creepy wordless child communication goes on between them before Jack nods. She nods too, kid-logic apparently winning out, and turns back to Dean. “He’s that way.” She points out the garage door again.

Dean stands up and both kids immediately take a step back. Jack even half-steps behind the girl, eyes wide and afraid. He wipes his hands clean on the rag hanging from his pocket and gestures toward the door with a sweep and half bow. “Why don’t you lead the way? We’ll get this sorted out so your dad knows where you are.”

“Daddy isn’t here.” She huffs again, rolling her eyes as if it’s Dean’s fault for not knowing. “We’re with _Uncle Cas_ today. He looks like daddy, but he’s not him.”

Great, and now Dean has a name to work with. “Sorry, my bad. Let’s go find your uncle and tell him about your upcoming trip to the park, okay?”

“Okay.” The girl nods again and she grabs Jack’s hand. She starts dragging him towards the door. They lead Dean out into the back parking lot. The garage uses it to store cars they’re working on, but all the other spots are employee parking for everyone else that works in the other businesses the garage shares the strip mall with. Either way, it’s definitely _not_ a place for two small children to be wandering around unsupervised.

Thankfully, they don’t have far to go. They take Dean to the door literally right next to the garage door he had open. It has a decal slapped on it indicating that it belongs to the accounting place they share a wall with. There’s only one guy who works there and the rest are middle aged ladies that complain a lot about the noise coming from the garage. Not that they really have a leg to stand on. They’re the dumbasses that took the spot _next to the garage_ in the first place.

But apparently the guy is the one that brought kids to work. He looks kinda like he’s Dean’s age, which means it’s totally possible that these two belong to him – or rather, a sibling, since he’s apparently their _uncle_. But without the key, they can’t open the door from back here and there’s no doorbell. Dean doesn’t trust that they’ll be very good at answering if he knocks.

“We’re going to have to go around the front and go in through the main doors, okay?” He points to the corner one more business over from the accounting place. “You want to lead the way, or are you going to make me be the brave one and go first?”

The girl puffs up and she yanks on Jack’s hand, making him stumble after her as they go ahead of him. Dean has to bite his lip not to smile. Cute kitten, definitely. He sticks his hands in his pockets and goes after them at a slow pace, keeping his distance when Jack keeps glancing back, still scared.

“Hey, my name’s Dean by the way.” He smiles at Jack at the third glance. “You’re Jack, right? What’s your sister’s name?”

“I’m _Claire_.” She calls back over her shoulder. “Jack doesn’t talk to strangers.”

“Am I still a stranger if I just told you my name?” He tilts his head and Jack ducks his, shuffling faster to keep up with his sister. She hesitates a step but doesn’t answer, her head held high. Dean tries _really_ hard not to laugh.

They go around the side of the building and onto the sidewalk there. Jack seems a little less terrified of Dean, but he’s still glancing back to make sure he’s there. Every time he does, Dean flashes him a thumbs up or makes a silly face. Once or twice he gets a smile in return, but mostly Jack just ducks his head. Claire keeps a punishing pace – for a kid, at least. Dean could easily pass them in a few strides if he took normal steps.

Moments after they turn the corner, the front door to the accounting place bursts open and what mutst be Uncle Cas stumbles outside. Even from here Dean can tell that the guy looks stressed. His tie is backwards, his shirt half un-tucked, his five o’clock shadow is _at least_ three days old, and his hair looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in weeks. Well, it _is_ tax season. Maybe he’s a little overworked? That would explain why he’s here on a Saturday when normally the accounting place is closed on the weekends.

Either way, it works for him. There’s a reason Dean makes excuses to be outside checking the cars in the front lot the mornings when the accounting office is just opening.

The guy looks left, away from them, before turning right. The kids both wave and Dean mimics them too. Uncle Cas visibly relaxes before he jogs the rest of the way to them. He drops to his knees and pulls the kids into a tight hug.

“Don’t you _ever_ wander off like that again!”

“We were _bored_.” Claire whines, squirming in his hold. Jack, on the other hand, leans into the hug. “Your phone calls were taking too long.”

Uncle Cas sighs and he lets her go to run a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. This was supposed to be our day together while your mom and dad work on the house.” He shakes his head and gives her a hopeful smile. “It’ll just be a little be longer and then we can go to the park like I promised, okay?”

Claire crosses her arms and stomps her foot, fixing him with a look that would make even Dean quaver in his steel-toed boots. “I want to go _now_.” She stomps her foot and turns to point at Dean. “ _He_ promised to give us a car so we could go!”

“You – promised them a car?” Uncle Cas looks up at Dean with a frown.

“Technically, no. I said if they were going to take a car, then they needed to tell you which one they were going in.” Dean shrugs at Claire’s confused look. “I _might_ have left out the part where I didn’t have a spare car you could take.”

She gasps and stomps over to slap his leg. “You _lied_.”

Uncle Cas stands up with Jack still in his arms. “He did the right thing, Claire. He – and the both of you – would have been in a lot of trouble if he did give you a car.”

“But we’re supposed to go to the _park_!” Claire’s voice reaches a trembling pitch that even Dean, with his minimal experience with children, knows means tears aren’t far behind. “You’re _both_ liars!”

“Claire, _please_.” Uncle Cas sighs and scoops her up too. “Not right now, sweetheart. We’ll go to the park and spend the _whole_ afternoon there as soon as I’ve finished with my work. These calls are very important and I –”

But it’s too late. The water works have started and she squirms hard enough that Uncle Cas seems to be having difficulty holding both kids up. Instead of carrying her like he is Jack, with the kid basically sitting on his forearm, Claire ends up like a sack of potatoes under his other arm. She kicks and flails, but otherwise hangs uselessly at his side.

After a rather defeated look at the sky, Uncle Cas gives Dean a worn smile. “I’m very sorry that they took you away from work. You’re from the garage, aren’t you?”

“Sure am.” He nods and almost holds his hand out to shake, but stops himself last minute. “I’m one of the mechanics. Name’s Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel Novak.” He nods in greeting. “Thank you for getting them back to me. I was wrapped up with a call and didn’t notice when they must have slipped out of my office.”

Dean shrugs and tries for an easy smile. “No sweat, dude. Kids are slippery lil’ eels when they wanna be sneaky.” Or, at least, he _thinks_ they are. Again, no actual experience in the matter. “But if it’s entertainment they need, our lobby has one of those activity table things and a whole bunch of colouring books. Pretty sure there’s a Disney Princess one in there somewhere.”

Claire’s crying cuts off suddenly and she lifts her head just enough to watch Dean through her bangs. He hums and taps at his chin while looking off in the distance, trying to act like he’s thinking really hard. “And, I’m pretty sure Becky has a jar of candy behind her desk that she shares with well-behaved kids who ask _really nicely_.”

Jack’s eyes grow, like, three sizes bigger and he looks excitedly to his uncle. Claire sniffles a bit, but otherwise is very quiet. Cas, on the other hand, looks torn. “I couldn’t possibly just leave them in the care of your secretary. It’s not her job to watch them.”

“It’s not, but I’m due to take my lunch. If she watches them for five minutes while I finish up with the car I was working on, I can sit in there and keep an eye on them while I’m eating.”

Cas crouches to put both Jack and Claire down again. He puts a hand on each of their shoulders and looks between them. “Is that okay with you two?”

They share a look for more of that freaky telepathic kid communication before nodding in unison. Claire glances back at Dean. “Can we eat lunch with you too?”

“I did pack some snacks and sandwiches for them.” Cas looks up at Dean, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I don’t want to impose, but –”

“It’s fine. You can buy me a drink later and we’ll call it even.” Dean shrugs and gives him a cheeky wink.

A hint of colour rises high on Cas’s cheeks. He clears his throat as he stands, taking both the kid’s hands in his. “We can – I’ll give you my number and we can talk about that later.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He hums, following the trio to the front door of the garage.

Dean has the distinct feeling that he’s going to be seeing more of these kids and their unfairly-cute-when-rumpled uncle a lot more often.

**END**


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchster
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, pre-relationship
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Dean is a construction worker and he hates humidity. He fucking hates soupy air so much. He tends to keep away from humid places in the summer, so how in all things rock and roll did Sam convince him to take a job in DC in July? He’s going to commit fratricide. But the guy working next to him seems to have no comment on the swamp air, even though he drips with sweat the same as him. Dean watches as one drop slowly slides down his arm and… Oh fuck, he saw him staring!_

**PROMPT #31**

“Why don’t you just take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

Sam’s grin doesn’t change any when Dean whips around to glare at him. He briefly considers raising the nail gun in his hand before remembering the pressure safety switch won’t let him fire without it being up against something.

Instead, Dean stomps over and punches him in the shoulder. “Could you _be_ any louder?”

“I could. Do you want me to be louder?” Sam shields his eyes and looks up at the bare bones of what will eventually be the roof once they get all the pieces in place. One of the other construction workers is straddling a heavy beam and looking out over the wall of the house while eating his lunch. In particular, it’s their co-worker that Dean has been making moon eyes at since they got here.

“Say _anything_ and I will bury you under the basement.” Dean grunts and drops the nail gun onto a nearby work table. “Did you get us lunch or not?”

Sam holds up the bag in his hand. “Of course I did.”

“Great. We’re eating in the Impala.” He starts towards the street where they’re parked.

For a moment, Sam hesitates. He glances up at their co-worker before jogging after Dean. “You sure you wouldn’t rather eat up on the roof with Mr. Blue-Eyes-Tight-Shirt?”

After another withering glare, Dean snatches the bag out of his hands. “I’m not going anywhere near him when I’m sweating like a pig with a permanent case of swamp ass.” His nose wrinkles at his own choice of words, because _ugh_. “We’re putting towels on the seats before we sit down in my baby.”

“Or, hear me out, why don’t we sit _outside_ instead of in a _black car_.” Sam stops when they reach the car and Dean almost agrees with him. He can _feel_ the heat radiating off of her, even though she’s currently parked in the shade.

“I’m after the _air conditioning_.” The windows are open, so it’s not like she’s been keeping all that heat inside her. It’s still not very nice though and Dean grimaces at it. “We should have moved to Canada.”

Sam steps away from the car. “I’m not eating in there.” He comes around the side to hook his arm around Dean’s. “C’mon. Let’s eat under the tree. The breeze isn’t too bad, is it?”

“What _breeze_?” Dean grumbles, but he allows himself to be dragged away. “You brought me to the humidity capital of the world and I want to _die_.” He drags his feet until they reach the base of the tree and drops down against it. If he makes sure that he’s angled towards the house enough to keep an eye on the aptly named _Mr. Blue-Eyes-Tight-Shirt_ , then that’s entirely coincidence.

“I feel like I should point out that D.C. doesn’t even crack the top ten of the most humid states in the country.” Sam sits down next to him and pulls a Subway sandwich out of the bag. He passes along a bottle of water with it. “You’re just being a big baby.”

Dean grumbles and cracks open the bottle. “I’ll show _you_ a big baby.”

They eat mostly in silence. Sam fidgets with his phone, checking his Twitter and whatever bullshit it is that he does on that thing. Maybe he’s looking for more jobs? Dean wouldn’t mind one someplace cooler. They’re freelance construction workers with their own insurance and certifications. Usually they find a call for extra hands and just go where needed. If they charge just a little less than what companies usually pay their employees, they’re almost always guaranteed a job.

It’s only _slightly_ legal, but they’re not breaking any laws as long as they have proper papers.

His watch beeps around when he’s starting to drift off. The humidity can’t be escaped and he’s still hot in the shade. Now they have to go back out into the sun to sweat it up some more. Dean groans loudly as he gets to his feet and stumbles towards the house. The air feels like soup and it’s the worst. His clothing is sticking to him uncomfortably and all he wants is a nice cold shower.

“You’re never allowed to pick where we go again.” He peels his shirt off his chest and shakes it a bit, getting some airflow up against his skin. “Next job is going to be in Antarctica.”

Sam doesn’t answer. He just grins at Dean until something moves at his elbow. “Dean.” An unexpected voice next to has him jumping and Dean turns to find Castiel – or Cas, or _Blue-Eyes-Tight-Shirt_ – looking at him. “I need another set of hands up top. Come help me?”

“Uh – yes?” Fuck. His voice went high and squeaky and Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

He follows him to the ladders and they head on up, walking along the beams like they haven’t a care in the world. On a bungalow like this, they don’t bother strapping themselves in. A fall from this height will hurt, but it won’t kill them.

“How come this humidity doesn’t bother you?” Dean swings down to sit on the beam next to Cas. It looks like they’re going to be shimming down them while installing the cross beams.

“I grew up here.” Cas shrugs and wipes some sweat from his forehead. “I barely notice it anymore.”

A drop of sweat slides down Cas’s shoulder and Dean tracks its path down towards his elbow. He closes his eyes and breathes out heavily through his nose, squashing the urge to just _lick that off_. Maybe he should look into a new career that doesn’t have him around fairly attractive and pretty fit people all the time. It’s _killer_ on his bisexual libido.

When he opens his eyes, Cas is watching him from under his helmet. There’s an almost amused tilt to his mouth. Despite the humidity, Dean’s mouth runs dry. He can’t look away until someone is tapping him on the thigh. He looks down to find Sam standing on a ladder between them. Sam grins up at him as he holds out one of two nail guns, the other he passes to Cas. After a quick wink Dean’s way, Sam all but bounces back down the ladder to start helping pass up the cross beams.

Dean swallows thickly and looks back up to Cas. “So, uh, as a D.C. native… How do you deal with this bullshit humidity?”

“Cold showers. Cold drinks. Good company.” Cas shrugs and hangs the nail gun on his belt. “After you freshen up when we’re done, you and your partner should join me.”

“Partner?” Dean takes way too long to process that. “What partner?”

Cas points down at where Sam and another co-worker are lifting the beam up onto their shoulders to bring over to them. “Him. Isn’t he your partner?”

“ _Business_ partner. That’s my _brother_.”

“Oh.” Cas looks up at him, eyes wide. “Really?” He looks back and forth between Dean and Sam before clearing his throat. “Then perhaps he could… not come?”

The heat is messing with Dean’s brain because, again, he has to take a little longer to parse through that. “Are you – uh – Are you asking me out?”

“It was either that or finish this project with you staring at me every day.” Cas shrugs and reaches down to grab the end of the beam as Sam passes it up towards him. They leverage it from below until Cas can tip it across the one he’s sitting on and slid the other end towards Dean.

There’s a mischievous glint in his eye when he look at Dean again. “Or, if you’d prefer, you could _just take a picture_.”

**END**


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, pre-relationship, getting together, confessions, first kiss
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: “Make it or Break it AU” Who would have thought that Dean Winchester would invent the next big thing? While tinkering with some spare car parts, he accidentally creates a necklace that can turn into a belt or a hula hoop. It’s a hit with the pre-teen girls market, making Dean a multi-millionaire in a few short months. Now that the fad is over, Dean is considering leaving the town where everyone wants a piece of him. But there is one piece of him that he wants to give, but Cas sees him as a spoiled brat and won’t let him explain._

**PROMPT #32**

Dean paces back and forth in front of the door, fingers worrying around the stems of the flowers in his hands. This is it. Well, it’ll be it as soon as he gets the courage to actually push the doorbell. But he’s sweating through his Henley and maybe he should go home and shower first? It’s not like he can just –

The door swings open and Dean definitely does squeal in surprise. He _does_ however gasp loudly and jump back, hand coming up to clutch his heart because _holy shit_ he was not expecting that. Then again, he’s been out here for something like fifteen minutes now probably. It was only a matter of time before he was noticed.

Cas is standing in the doorway, one hand on the door and the other fisted against his hip. He doesn’t look nearly as happy to see him as Dean was hoping for. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh –” Yes, very eloquent. Exactly what he should start with for such an important moment. Dean swallows thickly and holds the flowers out sharply. “These are for you.”

“Why are you buying me flowers, Dean?” Cas sighs and makes no move to take them. “I’m fairly certain I told you _not_ to buy me things.”

Dean starts nodding before Cas has even finished talking. “Yeah, I know. But this isn’t me buying a thing for you like the car.” He’s heart jumps right into his throat when Cas’s eyes narrow into a dangerous squint. “I’m not gonna buy you anything like that unless you want me to. Honest!”

“Then why are you trying to give me flowers?”

“Because – uh –” He licks his lips and looks down at the bouquet of a dozen red roses. “These are – they _are_ a gift, but not _that_ kind of a gift.” His voice is getting a little too high and he takes a deep breath. “But they – these are – I’m trying to say –”

Cas rolls his eyes and takes the flowers. “Don’t buy me anything else, okay? No matter how small a trinket. If we’re going to remain friends, you can’t be buying me things.” That said, he still takes a sniff of the roses and smiles a little. He’s always been a sucker for flowers.

“Yes, of course. These are – they’re just a goodbye gift.”

That gets Cas’s attention on him right quick. His head snaps up and his hand drops off the door. “What do you mean _goodbye_?”

Dean rubs a hand over the back of his neck and decides that looking at their shoes is a lot easier than meeting the surprise in those baby blues he loves so much. “I’m probably going to be moving in the next month or so and with how things have been with us lately, I thought I should do it now before things get too busy. I didn’t want to forget, y’know?”

“You’re _moving_?” There’s something airy and all around sad about Cas’s voice that has Dean looking up again. The flowers have been lowered, bouquet hanging at his side. Cas looks – he almost looks _lost_ and he’s blinking a lot. “Why in the world are you _leaving_? This is – Lawrence is your _home_.”

“I know.” He shrugs and looks away again. “But I’m just not comfortable here anymore.” Dean turns and gestures out towards the city – Cas’s little cottage like house being towards the outskirts of it. “Everyone here keeps – I can’t even go for fucking groceries without someone asking me to buy theirs for them. I can’t even tell if they’re joking or serious anymore.”

Cas frowns and shakes his head. “You don’t _have_ to –”

“I know, but there are relatives coming out of the woodwork that I’ve never even _heard_ of before!” Dean throws his hands in the air before dropping them with a sigh. “Cousins three times removed showing up at my door or getting my number somehow and texting me to beg for handouts because we’re _family_.” He snorts and shakes his head. “Where the hell was _family_ when Mom died and Dad ran off? Where was _family_ when I was fucking nineteen years old and had to raise a teenager myself?”

“You weren’t alone.” Cas chokes out, voice tight.

A smile spreads and Dean’s whole body relaxes because of just about how much he _loves_ this grumpy bastard. “’Course I wasn’t. I had you.”

It was totally unofficial, but Cas was basically Dean’s partner when it came to raising Sam. While Dean was working his ass off at two full time jobs to afford their apartment, Sam’s school fees, and keeping food on their table, Cas was the homebody who split their rent and made sure that Sam did his homework, ate rounded meals, and was off to school when he was supposed to be. They were basically a married couple and it’s really no surprise that his childhood crush on Cas moved into full blown _you’re-the-love-of-my-life_.

Too bad that Cas doesn’t know.

Just like he doesn’t know that Dean has had _three_ ex-girlfriends show up claiming that at least one of their kids are his. If it wasn’t the timelines that cleared those claims up, then it was the DNA tests that Dean absolutely paid for to clear his name. He can’t be certain that he doesn’t have any illegitimate children out there because he was kinda loose as a way of blowing off stress way back when, and if a legitimate kid seeks him out then he’ll make every effort to be a part of their lives both physically and financially – but until then… Everyone else just fucking _sucks_.

Except Cas and Sammy. They’re the only two lights in his life since it got turned on his head thanks to his _still_ growing bank account. Being rich has been nothing but trouble since he made that stupid _Magical Miracle Band_.

Even _he_ doesn’t fully understand how he managed to make it. Dean was fooling around with a bunch of shit he found in the back of the garage trying to put together something that would hold some engine parts together long enough for him to connect them without needing a second set of hands. After some cleaning up, some links and bands and _bam_ , he’s got a stretchy shiny thing that had his boss’s tween of a daughter _lose her shit_. Why? He’ll never know. There’s something appealing about a multipurpose accessory, apparently. Either way, there are now whole shelves of a fancier looking version of it at Walmart, and his bank account is very appreciative of it.

But ever since he started swimming in cash, Cas has been… kinda absent in Dean’s life. They haven’t really talked about it, mostly because Cas kept making excuses not to see him. Dean figures it has something to do with the money, and with how he immediately tried to replace Cas’s shitty beaten up [_AMC Gremlin_](https://assets.hemmings.com/uimage/64730942-770-0@2X.jpg?rev=1) with a spiffy new sedan. Cas did _not_ take too kindly to that and laid down the law about spending any kind of money on him in the future.

Which brings them to now with Cas clutching two dozen roses and staring at Dean like he just slapped him instead. It’s one of the many expressions he’s had since he opened the door that has completely and utterly wiped out any hope Dean had for confessing. He was planning on doing that today (right now, actually) but – Well, that’s not going to be happening any time soon.

Money has changed a lot of people in Dean’s life, and the fact that Cas was one of them is just – It’s the worst. The only saving grace is that unlike everyone else though (except for Sam), Cas is the only person who hasn’t wanted something from him – which is ridiculous because Dean would give him the goddamn moon if he could.

Cas clears his throat, but he still sounds small when he finally speaks again. “Where are you going to go? Is Sam going with you?”

Dean shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Don’t know where I’m going yet, but Sam probably isn’t sticking around either. He’s been looking at going to Stanford in the sunshine state. I’ll foot the bill for it, and get a place out there too if that’s where he ends up going.”

“And until then?”

Good question. “Dunno. Travel, maybe?”

Cas’s nose wrinkles. “You hate flying.”

“I never said anything ‘bout going by _plane_.” He grins and jerks a thumb over his shoulder to where his car is parked on the street. “I can get to Mexico in my baby and rent a beachfront private villa or something. Or I could go on a cruise, or take a boat overseas. There’s lots of ways to get around without going by airborne metal dildo.”

Not even that gets Cas to crack a smile. If anything, he frowns harder. “What about your _job_?”

“I’m a mechanic, Cas.” Dean spreads his hands and shrugs. “Jobs aren’t that hard for me to find, and I can pretty much work anywhere. Besides, I’m taking some time off right now to try and get my footing while everything is all kinds of topsy-turvy.”

By time off, Dean means that he actually doesn’t have a job anymore. That’s the thing about having come into a fuckton of money suddenly. As soon as he realized he probably wouldn’t have to work for the rest of his life – especially after he invested a lot – Dean quit his job. Honestly, though, never working another day sounds pretty terrible. He _liked_ what he did, even if he wasn’t the biggest fan of some of the people he worked with.

But Dean has been working his ass off for over ten years now. As far as he sees it, he _deserves_ a break. He’s not the only one either. Cas works hard too and Dean would _love_ for him to come traveling with him, but he knows that he never would. He doesn’t want anything to do with Dean’s money which is just – C’mon! If Dean was going to give handouts and spoil anyone, aside from Sam, it would be Cas. And it’s _killing him_ not to be allowed to do that.

Cas looks down at his bouquet and lifts it. He inspects each of the two dozen roses. “And that’s it? You’re just going to leave without a word to anyone else?”

“Well, it might be nice to disappear to someplace where no one knows me from Adam.” Dean ignores the little stab of pain behind his ribs at the idea of leaving Cas behind. “But this is the digital age, so we can still text and Skype and all that. And if you ever want to travel with me, or come visit, you’d always be welcome.”

The frown only deepens the wrinkles between Cas’s eyebrows. “Visit just so I can stay in one of your mansion bedrooms? Having to walk a mile just to be able to see you? No thank you.”

“Mansion?” Dean takes a half-second to process that. Since when was a _mansion_ ever in the cards?

One of Cas’s shoulders twitches in his approximation of a shrug. “I assume you’re going to buy one in California, aren’t you?”

Wow. Maybe Cas _doesn’t_ know him nearly as well as Dean thought he did. “When did I ever say I would buy a _mansion_?” He shakes his head. “If I’m buying a place out there, it’ll be a three-bedroom house at most. Some place with a basement and a garage, a room for Sammy and a guest room for when you visit.” Because one of the worst things about growing up was no longer sharing a bed whenever they slept over. It was either the couch or an air mattress on the floor.

Cas opens his mouth, but closes it again. His frown eases slightly, but he doesn’t look up from the flowers. “You gave me roses.”

“Yeah. Figured you’d hate them less than, I dunno, paying off your mortgage or something.”

“Don’t you _dare_.” The frown is back, but only for a moment before he holds the roses out and gives them a shake – enough to rustle them together. “You gave me _roses_ , Dean. You’ve never given me flowers before. Of any kind. And you start with _roses_?”

Fuck. Yeah, roses. He picked them on purpose for the whole thing that roses are supposed to represent. How is he going to play it off like he _doesn’t_ know what they mean? Or that he basically tried to use flowers to do the talking for him if he failed in working up the courage to confess?

All Dean can do is shrug and look very interested in the grain of the door frame. “I dunno, Cas. I just grabbed the nicest flower.”

“Or was it because they’re the most expensive?”

“They weren’t. They had other bouquets for way more than that.” Dean waves a hand, trying to brush the whole topic off because this is _clearly_ not the right time for him to confess that he’s been in love with Cas for more than half his life. “And that’s not the point here –”

Cas waves the roses again, this time almost right in Dean’s face. “I think that is _entirely_ the point!” For the first time since he opened the door, he actually steps barefoot out onto the little porch. “You didn’t need flowers to tell me you were leaving, and you _know_ that I find flowers to be insincere peace offerings. But you brought me _roses_ , of all things.”

Dean takes a step back, hands half raised because he’s not sure if he’s about to be whacked over the head with the roses or not. Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past Cas to do it. He used to be _lethal_ during pillow fights. Dean hasn’t won one… like, _ever_.

“It – It wasn’t a _peace offering_.”

But the fact that Cas thinks he needed one was – Seriously, _what_? Dean has no idea what he did that pissed Cas off so much. He invented some accessory for preteen girls that propelled him up into millionaire status within a few months, and then he tried to use that money to take care of the people that meant the most to him. He’s donated _a lot_ of money to charities, but only after investing a bunch to try and make sure that he won’t have to worry about money ever again.

“Then what _is_ it, Dean.” Cas steps in again, bringing them almost chest to chest unless Dean wants to start backing away down the single step behind him. His voice drops into a quiet rumble of a whisper that does _unfair_ things to Dean’s heart. “Why did you buy me _roses_?”

“I –” Any further words get stuck in his throat because Cas is _so close_ and staring him down in the intense way that always makes him weak in the knees. Heat starts crawling up his throat and Dean can feel his face grow warm. “I –”

Cas sighs and steps back, just enough to give Dean the room he needs to breathe. “Never mind.” But then he keeps going until he’s backed all the way into his house; his hand on the door again. Why does he look _disappointed_? “Enjoy your travels and your new home.”

The door is almost closed before reality sets in and he panics. And when Dean panics, he gets impulsive and does stupid things. In this case, he almost shouts loud enough for Cas’s neighbours to hear him. “ _I love you_!”

That gets the door to stop moving, but it doesn’t open again and Dean panics further – which keeps his mouth moving. “I love you and I brought you roses because I know exactly what they mean and I thought they could do the talking if I couldn’t get the courage to do it myself. I tried to buy you a new car because I’m always worried that piece of shit you drive now is going to quit on you in the middle of the highway and you’re going to get hurt.”

He takes a deep breath, and the door opens a little bit. Dean continues. “I want to pay your mortgage off because I want to take care of you. I would cocoon you in bubble wrap and keep you safe and cozy for the rest of our lives if I could because I love you and don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you. I want you to come travelling with me and I want you to let me pay for it because what else am I going to do with all this money besides pamper the people who mean the most to me?”

The door is open enough for Cas to be looking around it again. His face is carefully neutral in the exact way it always is when they play poker. “You trying to pay for everything for me _isn’t_ because you wanted to flaunt your money?”

Dean sputters and shakes his head. “What the hell? _No_!” When has he ever flaunted anything aside from how good his ass looks in that one pair of jeans? “I tried to specifically _not_ flaunt my money because it draws out all the crazies. It’s only a matter of time before Dad, wherever he is, finds out about it and thinks he can just show up and get his cut because _oh he’s my dad_.”

He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I’m so _sick_ of the money and how it’s changed everything. Everyone wants a piece of me now and the only person I want to give any piece of me to barely even talks to me anymore. It fucking _sucks_.”

“Me. You’re talking about me.” Cas opens the door fully and there’s a sad lilt to his voice. Just enough for Dean to look up at him again. “I’m sorry, Dean, I was wrong. I thought the money was changing you and that you were starting to become one of those –” He waves his hand as if that somehow encompasses the type of people he’s referring to. “But it didn’t change you, did it?”

“I don’t think it did?” Dean shrugs and spreads his arms. “I still feel like me. Everything I’m doing with the money is shit I would have been doing ages ago if I had the money to do it. Except the not working bit. I just need a fucking _break_ for a while and then I’ll get another job and –”

Cas holds up his hand, cutting him off. “Are you still moving?”

“Um, yeah.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Even if you and I make up, that isn’t going to change how everyone else sees me, and I – I just can’t deal with that anymore.”

“I see.” Cas looks down at the roses and he traces a petal with a fingertip. “But you’re not moving until Sam decides where he wants to go to University?”

That’s kinda the plan. University wasn’t really in the cards for either of them, what with the money situation. Sam’s had it in his head to work for a few years and save up enough so he could pay for what scholarships wouldn’t cover without having to work while going to school. Now that money isn’t an issue, the timeline has moved up _a lot_ and it’s just a matter of him deciding where he wants to go.

“I still want to travel before that. Sam wants to do a tour of Europe with his girlfriend, so I’ll probably send them off on that and go do my own thing.” He pauses and subtly steals a glance at Cas. “Though I’d prefer not to go alone.”

“Well, I’m going to have to sell my house, then.” Cas shrugs, still gently touching the roses. “And put my stuff into storage, and quit my job.”

Dean drops his hand and stares. “I – What?”

Cas turns to put the flowers down, probably on that antique looking side table he keeps next to the door. “If we’re going to be travelling for an indeterminate amount of time, I’m going to need money to do it. I have some savings, but selling the house will pad it quite nicely. And with my stuff already in storage, it will be easier to ship it to wherever we end up moving to.”

He keeps using that ‘ _we_ ’ word and Dean’s brain keeps tripping on it. “You – _What_?”

“I thought it was obvious.” Cas steps outside again, coming in nice and close. “I’m going with you. I will pay my own way through our travels as much as I can, because I refuse to depend _entirely_ on your money. And I’m sure I’ll be able to find a job in my field wherever we end up moving to. If I’m going to live with you, I also insist on paying rent.”

That’s – He – How –

Dean’s mouth moves but no sounds are coming out. He can’t quite grasp the sudden one-eighty this conversation took. Cas is going to travel with him? Cas is going to _move in_ with him? He hasn’t lived with them since Sam graduated high school. It’s been five years since he bought this little place and now he’s just willing to drop it all because of _him_? That’s – “Why?”

“Because I love you too, obviously.”

Oh. Dean swallows thickly and licks his lips. “You do?”

“Always have.” Cas’s arms slip around his waist and it feels _so right_. “Always will.”

“But you –” Dean folds his arms around him without really thinking about it. Holding him feels better than he ever thought it could. “You were avoiding me, and –”

“I was wrong.” Cas leans in until their foreheads are resting together. “I thought the money was going to change you. I couldn’t stand the idea of you becoming a spoiled brat, and I’m sorry. I should have been there for you instead of –”

Dean stops him from talking by tilting his chin up and kissing him. That’s definitely better than his imagination was ever able to come up with before and he hums into it. Cas’s fingers press against the small of his back. And then he’s stepping back again, pulling Dean with him until they’re stumbling over the threshold and into his cozy, cluttered little house that feels so _lived in_.

The fact that Cas is willing to give up all this to move with him, that he barely even _thought_ about it before deciding that’s what he wanted to do – There’s definitely more for them to talk about, but that can be later. Plans can be finalized and Sam can be talked to and all off that can _wait_. All that matters is that he’s got Cas again, more than he ever had him before, and - Well, Dean’s definitely glad he bought those damn roses.

**END**


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Meg Masters
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  General, pre-relationship, nurse!Cas, patient!Dean, drink water kids, Cas POV, meet-cute
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Sam drags Dean to the hospital; dehydrated and loopy from working in the hot sun (he’s a labourer). Castiel, the nurse, is in charge of giving him an IV drip. Dean stares up at him; “Are you an angel?” “No, just a nurse.” “Can you heal me?” “I’ll do my best.” Cas steps outside but can still hear Sam and Dean talking. “Did I imagine that smoking hot guy or was he real?” “He was real, Dean.” “Can you get his number for me?” “Dude, I’m not gonna be your wingman in a hospital!”_

**PROMPT #33**

“Next stop is room two-ten. Male, late twenties, dehydrated, kinda loopy, and extremely hot.” Meg, the nurse working the intake desk, smirks and points Castiel down the hall. “Labourer was working outside in this heat so feel free to be mean to him for being a dumbass.”

“Don’t they ever listen to the heat wave warnings?” He sighs and starts off towards the room in question, though he has zero intention of being mean. “They’re supposed to stay _inside_.”

Meg rolls her eyes in that long suffering way because no one _ever_ listens to the warnings. Heat wave in effect? Better send all the little old ladies outside to weed the garden directly under the sun with no hat and no water. Better let the kids play outside in their bathing suits, running and screaming up and down the street until the hot cement has blistered their feet and they’ve gone lobster red. The ER and clinic are always _so busy_ during heat waves and every day Castiel loses just a little bit of faith in the common sense of humanity.

As a nurse, he sees both the worst and best of people. The best always makes up for the worst and that’s why he stays in this job. Castiel loves helping people and he’s _good_ at it. There’s just something about him that people find calming. If there’s a problem patient, the solution on the ward is to send him in. He’ll have them under control within a few minutes. Maybe it’s his smile, or maybe it’s his voice. Whatever it might be, it works and he’s always happy to help.

Castiel pulls the curtain to the small room open and immediately realizes that Meg was being facetious when she said the patient was _extremely hot_. The man in the bed is definitely _very_ attractive and if he wasn’t such a professional, he might have actually stopped and stared. Castiel has worked with all manner of patients and of course some of them are good looking. But this one? Definitely in the top three. Meg will absolutely have added his name to her _list_ that she really shouldn’t be keeping.

There’s another man in the room too and he’s also fairly attractive. He’s sitting in the chair next to the bed, talking with the patient, and looks up when Castiel walks in. That makes the patient look too, though he’s a little more wobbly with turning his head. His jaw drops and he whistles lowly – or at least he tries to, but he’s supposedly very dehydrated and gets more of a _pfff_ with his dry mouth than an actual whistle.

“Are you an _angel_?” He asks, eyes wide and mystified.

“Sorry, just a nurse.” Castiel smiles and approaches the side of the bed. “My name is Castiel and I’ll be helping you tonight. Intake says you’re dehydrated, but I’d like to double check just to be sure. Are you okay with that?”

Instead of answering, the patient speaks again in a soft whisper. “Can you heal me?”

“I’ll do my best.” Castiel smiles and gets a radiant, though tired, smile in return. “Are you alright with starting the tests now?”

The patient nods several times, though the movements of his head are loose and bouncy – as if he’s having trouble keeping it upright. He holds his hand out, though it also wobbles in the air. “M’name’s Dean Winchester. Nice t’meet’cha.”

Castiel smiles and shakes his hand, and then the man in the chair stands up and holds out his hand too. “I’m his brother, Sam.”

“Nice to meet you both.” He nods and quickly checks the chart to confirm the information. Dean Winchester; male; thirty-two years old; dehydration; recommended treatment is a saline drip. Castiel puts the clipboard down and holds out his hand again. “Ready?”

“Check me all over, doc.” Dean slips down the bed, spreading out in what he must have meant to be a seductive pose. Instead, he kind of just flops everywhere with a goofy grin. It shouldn’t be endearing, but damn it, it is.

“Nurse.” Castiel corrects him and takes one of Dean’s hands in his. “If you feel any pain, please let me know. These are all fairly painless procedures.”

To start, he assesses capillary refill by applying pressure to the fingernail of Dean’s index finger for about five seconds. When he lets go, he counts the seconds it takes for the colour to return. Normally it takes anywhere from one to three seconds for colour to return to normal on someone who is properly hydrated. For Dean, it takes six whole seconds. That’s one sign of dehydration.

As he tests the elasticity of the skin by pinching the back of Dean’s hand lightly and watching how quickly it returns to its normal state, Castiel starts asking questions. “Are you thirsty, Dean?”

“Mhmm.” He bobs his head before letting it drop back against the pillow. “Could go for a good ol’ tall glass of water, y’know what m’saying, doc?” His eyebrows wiggle slightly, but probably not to the full extent of the expression he’s trying to make.

Castiel is fully used to patients flirting with him – men and women alike – and ignores that part of what he said. “I’ll get you a nice bottle of water and a saline drip in just a moment.” He takes the penlight out of his breast pocket and leans over the bed slightly. “Do you mind if I check your eyes?”

Dean shakes his head again and actually seems to consciously try to hold still as Castiel cups his temple. With his thumb, he gently coaxes Dean’s eye to stay open while he waves the light back and forth in front of it. The pupil reacts accordingly, so he concludes that he’s most likely not high.

“Sam, is it true he was out working today in the heat wave?”

“Yeah, it’s true.” Sam frowns at Dean. “I told him not to, but we don’t have much of a steady income and he picks up odd contract jobs by gardening companies, construction companies, and etcetera. The budget’s tight this month and he said we couldn’t afford to miss a day just because it’s – and I quote – ‘ _swamp ass season’_.”

It takes a lot of effort – and not a little bit of practice – not to laugh at that. Castiel does smile and nod, though. “I see. Do you know when the last time he went to the bathroom was?”

“I’m not sure. I know he went this morning before leaving for work, but I don’t know if he did between then and now.” Sam leans forwards and taps Dean on the shoulder to get his attention. “Did you hear the question?”

“Haven’t gone _all_ day.” Dean hums, still looking up at Castiel with a dreamy look to him – that could be the dehydration in effect. “Got a bladder like a _camel_.”

At that, Castiel _does_ snort. He covers it up by clearing his throat. “And did you drink anything today?”

“Nah. Didn’t have time.”

Gorgeous, but makes poor decisions. Isn’t that always the case? Castiel nods and steps back. “Thank you, Dean. I’m going to go get you that water and a saline drip. When I come back, I’m going to have to give you an IV in the back of your hand. Do you promise not to mess with it?”

“Anythin’ for you, doc.” Dean raises one of his hands and wiggles his fingers in a wave. “See ya’ soon.”

Castiel mimics the gesture before nodding at Sam and stepping out of the room. He closes the curtain to give them some privacy again and heads off to get the supplies. With the room number and patient name, he signs out a bag of saline and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge at intake. Meg gives him a _knowing_ look and Castiel ignores her entirely on his way back to the room.

He stops outside the room to shuffle everything over to one arm so he has a free hand to pull the curtain back. His fingertips barely brush the fabric just as he hears Dean slur to his brother. “I didn’t imagine that smokin’ hot guy, right? Was he real?”

Sam sighs and his flat tone hints towards being exhausted himself. “He was real, Dean. And he’s going to be back soon, so maybe stop asking that, huh?”

“Can you get his number for me?”

“Dude!” Sam sputters out something that sounds a little like a laugh. “I am _not_ going to be your wingman in a hospital!”

Castiel steps back from the curtain to take a moment and _stop_ smiling. He has a lot of patients ask for his number, but he’s never given it out before. Dean’s dehydration induced innocence is endearing and Castiel is honestly interested in seeing what he’d be like when he’s recovered. It’s technically not ethical for him to give his number to a patient. Once he’s no longer on shift and the patient has been discharged? Well, that’s fair game.

And wouldn’t you know it… His shift ends in an hour, which – if all goes well – should be about when Dean will be discharged. While he won’t hold out hope, Castiel looks forward to seeing if Dean is still interested when he’s in his right mind again.

**END**


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for swearing), Alternate Universe - modern, established relationship, married, preschool!teacher Dean, university professor!Cas, song-fic (sorta), buffoons being buffoons
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Modern!AU – Dean is a preschool teacher and has heard enough of “Baby Shark” to last him a lifetime. Too bad that Castiel keeps humming it._

**PROMPT #34**

  
“How was your day at work?” Cas looks up from where he’s grading term papers at the dining table. His class today ended at two o’clock. Lucky bastard.

Dean groans loudly and kicks the door of their apartment closed behind him. It’s pushing half-past five and his stomach is grumbling. Hopefully Cas has dinner at least sort of started. If not, then they’re ordering in because Dean is _so_ not in the mood to do any cooking tonight. Which sucks, because he loves cooking and he’s damn good at it too.

While the classes that Cas teaches at the university give him weird hours (sometimes good, sometimes bad), Dean is at the preschool from seven o’clock in the morning to five o’clock in the afternoon. The last of the kids get picked up around four o’clock and then the staff has to do a _major_ clean of literally everything. As much as Dean loves the kids he works with, he’s kinda sick of scrubbing sticky fingerprints off of every possible surface.

Cas props his chin on his hand and looks him over. “Not a good day was it?”

“Y’wanna know what kind of day I had?” Dean hangs his jacket on the coat rack and kicks off his shoes. He rolls his shoulders and heads towards Cas. “You _really_ wanna know?”

“Always.”

“A four year old got fresh with me during craft time.” He reaches the table and turns to show Cas the two tiny bright red handprints splayed across his jeans over his left butt cheek.

There’s a muffled snort in response and Dean turns to find Cas covering his mouth, clearly trying to keep himself from laughing. It doesn’t work. The bastard’s eyes are practically _shining_. Dean glares down at him until Cas stands up to fold him in his arms, and then he promptly sags into the hug and buries his face against Cas’s shoulder.

“Craft time is the _worst_ time.”

“I know.” Cas runs his hands up and down his back a few times. “It’s been a long week. At least now you get the weekend to relax.”

Oh _fuck yes_. It’s Friday! This week has been such a nightmare that Dean didn’t even realize it. He moans happily and wiggles closer, shimmying until Cas gets the idea and drops his hands down to his ass. Another little laugh puffs against the side of his neck and clever fingertips start tracing over the tiny handprints. If he can’t get the paint out of these jeans, he’s gonna be pissed. They’re so _comfy_.

“What’re you smiling for?” Dean grumbles and steps back enough to look Cas in the eye without breaking out of his hold. “This butt belongs to you and some squirt _touched_ it.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow and his hands tighten briefly. “What would you like me to do, Dean? Fight a four year old? My foreign knowledge is lacking, but I’m fairly sure that’s frowned upon _everywhere_.”

“You’re not gonna defend my honour?” Dean fakes shock and slaps Cas’s hands away. “What kind of husband _are_ you?”

“The kind that already placed an order for Chinese food that should be here in –” He pauses to check his watch. “Oh, probably another ten minutes?”

There were many reasons that Dean married Cas, and this just happens to be one of them. He wobbles forward into another hug. “You’re the _best_ husband.”

“Mm, I know.” Cas kisses his temple and pats him on the ass again. “I’ll keep you fed, but I won’t fight a child over your butt. Sorry.”

“Fine, but will you at least fight my boss?” Dean rests his chin on Cas’s shoulder and tucks his hands into the back pockets of his slacks; not quite squeezing his ass, but just resting his hands there because Cas really does have a _great_ ass. Round and plump and Dean could touch it forever.

Cas snorts another laugh and steps out of the hug. He pats him on the shoulder and sits back down at the table. “For the sake of you remaining employed, I think I’ll refrain from doing that. Sorry.”

With a dramatic sigh, Dean collapses into the only other open chair on the other side of their small round table. “Why _not_? She’s a dick.”

“Was she lazy and hid out in her office instead of helping you with the kids, or is this about the TV remote again?” He picks up his pen and looks down at the paper he was grading before. Cas always prints and grades everything by hand – even when his students submit online. “Was it _The Wiggles_ or _Dora The Explorer_ that plagued you this week?”

“If _only_.” Dean crosses his arms on the table and hides his face in them. “I would have taken Dora over the bullshit she had playing _all fucking week_. We changed the channel _twice_ this week and every kid threw a fit. After the second time, she locked the remote in her office so we couldn’t do anything.”

After a few moments of pen scratching on paper, Cas hums. “And what was she playing?”

“Baby Shark.” Dean grits his teeth and focuses on singing the lyrics to _Happy Birthday_ in his head.

Something about singing the _Happy Birthday_ song always manages to knock out any other song that he has stuck in his head. He read about doing that somewhere online before and it’s worked pretty well so far. It’s probably the only thing that saved him from having a mental breakdown this week. If it wasn’t the fact that the TV they have mounted in the corner constantly playing something to keep the kids entertained in between activities, then it was from the kids themselves singing it _all the time_.

It’s a miracle that they haven’t gotten any complaints from the parents because no way those kids weren’t singing it at home too.

There’s a long stretch of silence where Cas doesn’t say anything, and there’s no telltale sound of pen-on-paper. Dean figures that he’s probably just reading – up until there’s the _boop-boop-boop_ of the volume on a phone being turned up. He lifts his head to find Cas with his cell phone in hand. Two seconds later, that goddamn song starts playing.

_Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo_   
_Baby shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Baby shark!_

“No!” Dean covers his ears and drops his face against the table to grind his forehead against it. “Why are you doing this to me? Do you _hate_ me?”

“Of course not.” And yet, Cas doesn’t stop playing the fucking song. “I just wanted to know what you were talking about.”

_Mommy shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Mommy shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Mommy shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Mommy shark!_

Dean whines and lifts his head to give Cas his best puppy eyes. “For the love of God, please turn it off.”

“It’s not done. I want to know what the rest of the song sounds like.”

_Daddy shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Daddy shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Daddy shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Daddy shark!_

“It sound _exactly like that_.” Dean stands up to make a wild grab for the phone, but Cas is up and dancing out of his reach before he’s even leaned across the table. “They go through more of the family and other bullshit and _turn it off_!”

_Grandma shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Grandma shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Grandma shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Grandma shark!_

“It’s quite catchy, don’t you think?” Cas is grinning at him as he actually hops up onto the couch to hold the phone well out of Dean’s reach.

“I will _never_ suck your dick again if you don’t turn that damn thing off _right now_!” Dean hops up and down, arms swinging to get the phone.

_Grandpa shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Grandpa shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Grandpa shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Grandpa shark!_

Cas practically cackles as he leaps off the couch; ducking under Dean’s hands as he books it. He leads Dean on a Benny Hill inspired chase around the living room and through the kitchen. All while singing along to the _doo doo doo doo doo doo_ parts of the song.

_Let’s go hunt, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Let’s go hunt, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Let’s go hunt, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Let’s go hunt!_

“I’m going to _divorce_ you!” Dean calls after him. “After I fucking _murder you_.”

_Run away, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Run away, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Run away, doo doo doo doo doo doo **  
**Run away!_

Cas sings along as loud as he can without disturbing their neighbours. It’s not hard to figure out where the song is going to go after you hear the first line of the stanza. Their chase leads down the hall and into the bedroom where Cas uses the bed like a stepping stone to hop over the mattress and put the whole damn thing between them.

_Safe at last, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Safe at last, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Safe at last, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
Safe at last!_

“Ironically, you’re so _not_ safe anymore.” Dean shuts the door behind him, closing off Cas’s only means of escape unless he wants to try to go through their walk-in closet where it links to the bathroom. But even then he’s going to have to go through _two_ doors to do that, and that will slow him down enough for Dean to catch him.

Cas still bounces from foot to foot, ready and waiting for Dean to make his next move.

 _It’s the end, doo doo doo doo doo doo_  
It’s the end, doo doo doo doo doo doo  
It’s the end, doo doo doo doo doo doo

“It’s the end!”

Dean shouts the final lyric as he copies Cas’s move of using the bed to get to the other side. He launches himself over it and right into Cas’s waiting arms. They tumble to the floor, despite Cas’s best efforts to brace himself. He’s laughing hard enough that there are tears in his eyes, and doesn’t even try to fight Dean off as he grabs a pillow off the bed and uses it to smother him. Only as a distraction though so he can grab the damn phone and _finally_ turn the fucking thing off.

Cas is still wheezing with laughter as he tosses the pillow aside. He bundles Dean up in his arms and presses giggling kisses to his face.

“Stop it.” Dean grumbles, making the bare minimum effort to try and get out of the hold because he’s not actually angry. “I’m mad at you right now.” But Cas keeps peppering him in kisses until he finally ends on his lips in something soft and sweet.

And then he starts _humming_.

**END**


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Mature/Explicit, Alternate Universe - Modern, college AU, experimenting friends, unrequited but requited feelings, pre-relationship, Dean in panties, getting together, blow job, Castiel POV, not first person
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Roommates!AU – Dean: You know this means a prank war… Cas: I don’t regret it. Dean: You’re going down! Cas: My brother is Gabriel… Bring it! ([Followup to Prompt #23](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646261/chapters/49490333))_

**PROMPT #35**

[Continuation of Prompt #23](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18646261/chapters/49490333)

It was started not by Castiel or Dean, but by _Gabriel_ – effectively cementing himself the position of best man at their future wedding.

* * *

“What the _fuck_ , Cas!” Dean storms into their shared dorm room, interrupting study time.

Even if he hadn’t said anything, Castiel would still have been distracted. That tends to happen when Dean is basically _naked_. One would think that he wouldn’t mentally stall out every time Dean shows a lot of skin because of his many years of practice (since puberty, actually), and yet… His mouth goes dry and he suddenly feels _very warm_.

Dean barges into their room with nothing but a towel and his shower flip-flops on. The little net bag he carries all his bathing supplies in is swinging from his wrist while he drips water everywhere. There’s even suds in his hair and – Wait.

“Is your hair _pink_?”

“You think you’re funny, do you?” He narrows his eyes briefly before digging his shampoo bottle out of the bag. “You put hair dye in my shampoo!”

Castiel leans to the side to avoid the bottle when it gets thrown in his direction. He most definitely did _not_ put hair dye in Dean’s shampoo, but he knows who _did_. Dean went home for the weekend and Gabriel had come to stay over in his place. It was fully approved by both the dorm management and Dean – otherwise Gabriel would have slept on the blow-up mattress they keep for guests. And that would have just been silly since there was an empty bed not three feet away.

“I didn’t –”

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me, Cas.” Dean holds out both hands, showing that they’re both distinctly pink. “I’m going to look like an _idiot_ now.”

“But I –”

“This isn’t over.” Dean goes deadly serious and he points at him. “I’m going to finish my shower and when I get back, you’re going to _pay_.”

Somehow, Castiel has the feeling he _doesn’t_ mean any of the overly perverted things going through his mind because – well, _nearly naked Dean_. It’s taking all of his self-control to _not_ go to his knees and lick that one stray drop of water that seems like it’s taking forever to slide down the planes of Dean’s stomach. He could follow that path with his tongue, or maybe the path of the one that slips out from underneath the towel and down his leg.

But before he can even actually consider doing anything like that, Dean stomps out of the room again, just as blustery as when he came in. Castiel sighs loudly and slumps back in his chair. Times like this make him think that maybe it was a bad idea for them to room together at University. Granted, they were too excited about both of them being accepted into the same school for him to have considered it before and it’s much too late for him to change his mind now.

If he could go back in time, Castiel would have confessed his feelings before they graduated. Maybe things would be different then and Dean wouldn’t be assuming that _he_ was the one who did this. Yes, they’ve pulled pranks on each other throughout their friendship, and even during their time as roommates, but dye mixed with shampoo? That’s not exactly his style. His would be more along the lines of swapping all of Dean’s boxers with women’s underwear. But that might just be his hormones thinking that Dean would look _really_ good in something lacy and satiny and –

“ _Stop it_.” Castiel hisses down at his lap. “This is _not_ the time.”

Maybe, when Dean gets back from his shower, he’ll be willing to listen to him. Castiel was _not_ at fault here and he needs to plead his innocence. The last thing he wants is for Dean to be angry at _him_. If Dean is angry, then he won’t want to make out and Castiel was _so_ looking forward to that after spending literal _hours_ studying.

Speaking of, he should get back to that. He was almost done updating his colour coded flash cards with the new material from his classes this week. Returning to work should effectively kill any kind of arousal brewing in his belly – at least until Dean comes back.

* * *

The door bangs open a good ten minutes later. Dean looks no less angry and still very pink. He dumps his shower bag back into his underwear drawer where he keeps it and kicks his flip-flops under the bed. The towel is still around his waist, but now it’s stained slightly in pink from where he must have dried his hair first. Castiel is no less affected by it, but it’s easier to face him down without him being slick and dripping and – _No_!

Dean turns to him with his hands on his hips. “You’re fucking lucky that I actually pull this off.”

“Pink looks good on you.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” He crosses his arms and cocks one hip out. There’s the barest hint of a smile curling in the corner of his mouth. “You know this means a _prank war_.”

This is where Castiel should defend his innocence. Or, he could take the blame and lord it over Gabriel the next time he wants something. A prank war never hurt anyone, and they could use something fun to spice up the humdrum of mid-semester life. It would certainly keep Castiel on his toes, and he does love it when Dean gets excited about something. And a prank war is certainly right up his alley.

Instead of naming Gabriel as the culprit, Castiel gets to his feet and squares his shoulders; head held high. “I don’t regret it.”

A wide grin spreads across his face and Dean steps in until their chests bump. “You’re going _down_!”

It’s almost unfair to do this to him. Dean seems to be forgetting exactly who Castiel is related to. He can’t help a big smile of his own. “My brother is _Gabriel_.” At that, Dean’s smug smirk falters slightly but Castiel doesn’t let that deter him from leaning in until their noses touch. “ _Bring it_.”

He steals a quick peck of a kiss before sitting down without further comment. Once his studying is done, he’s going to start plotting.

Plotting and subtly looking up how much a dozen satiny pink panties with lace might cost.

* * *

“You changed my ringtone.” Castiel drops his bag on his desk chair. “Well, played.”

Dean doesn’t even look up from where he’s spread out on his bed, laptop balanced on his chest. He does, however, start humming Justin Bieber’s ‘ _Baby_ ’ just to rub salt in the wound.

* * *

When he hears the scream, Castiel thinks that Dean brought a woman back to their room. He would never do that, of course, but Castiel’s heart still sinks briefly. Dean has had relationships, during which they stopped ‘practicing’ making out, starting up again almost as soon as he was single again. They were all short but sweet, thank _God_. Castiel’s heart wouldn’t have been able to handle anything that lasted longer than a few months.

The light switches on in their room and Castiel groans. He sits up and shields his eyes to squint across the room. Dean is standing in boxers with his blanket in one hand and his sheet twisted up around his ankles. He’s panting heavily while staring at his bed, and there is a distinct lack of other people in the room. Castiel breathes a quiet sigh of relief at that, and then breaks down into giggles.

An extremely realistic fake cockroach bounces off his shoulder. “You _son of a bitch_.”

Castiel blows him a kiss before flopping back down. “Goodnight, Dean.”

It’s a good ten minutes before the light goes out, and the whole time Dean grumbles while he picks the variety of fake bugs out of his bed.

* * *

God, he’s _exhausted_. Castiel groans and shoulders the door open. Dean is standing on the other side in the process of pulling his boots on. They share a nod and Castiel steps out of the way for him to leave the room. He’s off to his evening class and Castiel is just getting back from his last class of the day. As much as he would love to go straight to bed, there’s a paper that needs starting and he really should have dinner. There’s only so many meals that he can skip before Dean will start chewing him out.

Sure enough, Dean steps out in the hall. “Hey, I left a foot-long meatball sandwich on your desk for you. Drink is in the mini-fridge.” He holds both hands up when Castiel throws him a suspicious glance. “Swear on my baby that I didn’t do anything to it. Food is off limits when it comes to prank wars.” As emphasis, he draws a cross over his heart.

If that wasn’t enough, swearing on his _car_ would have done it. Because if he lied, then the Impala would become fair game and Dean would _never_ risk his precious baby. Not that Castiel would ever do anything to it. He knows how much that car means to Dean and, prank war or not, he’s not heartless enough to do something to it.

“Fine, I believe you.”

“Enjoy!” Dean salutes and shuts the door behind him.

Castiel sighs and kicks off his shoes. He crosses the room to drop his bag on his bed and pulls his laptop out. A small bag of chips and the wrapped sandwich are waiting for him on his desk. Before he can eat, he needs to have something to watch so he can decompress from classes. And before he can sit down to eat, he needs to change into a comfortable pair of pajamas now that he’s turning in for the night.

While his laptop powers on again, he takes his time changing his clothes; peeling off the layers and tossing them in the hamper he keeps under his bed. Then he digs through the dresser against the wall at the end of his bed, finding his most comfortable pair of pajamas. Once changed, he pulls his chair out from the desk and drops into it.

 _Immediately_ upon sitting down, the **_bweeeEEEHHHH_** of an airhorn goes off so close that he jumps right back up with a shriek, hand clutching his chest.

The door opens not two seconds later and Dean is _wheezing_ with laughter, leaning heavily on the door-frame. When he can finally breathe again and stand properly, he flashes Castiel a diabolical grin. “I didn’t say anything about messing with your chair!”

He closes the door before Castiel can formulate a response. But, sure enough, an air horn is taped to the understand of his chair in such a manner that the smallest shift in the height – like when he sits down – would cause the button on top to be pressed.

Clearly he’s dealing with a mad genius here and he’s going to need to up his pranking game. Looks like it’s time to finally put in an order for those panties.

* * *

“Dude.”

Castiel is sitting on the edge of his bed in the middle of pulling his socks on. He tries _very hard_ not to smile when he looks up. “Yes, Dean?”

“ _Dude_.”

Dean is standing at his dresser, the half-sized top drawer that holds his socks and underwear sitting open in front of him. In his hands is a scrap of pink fabric edged in lace. It takes everything in Castiel’s power to keep himself from outwardly reacting in any way, shape, or form.

“What’s the problem?” He raises an eyebrow and glances between Dean and the panties. “I thought you were supposed to be getting ready for class?”

“Where the hell is my underwear?”

He shrugs and leans back down to pull on his other sock. “Beats me.”

“You don’t mess with a man’s underoos, Cas!” Dean shakes the panties at him. “But if you think this is going to bother me, you’ve got another thing coming. I’m not afraid to free-ball it around campus.”

Castiel hums and stands up. “But you _are_ afraid to wear those, hm?”

That draws Dean up short. His jaw snaps closed and his lips press into a thin line, his eyes narrowing at the obvious challenge. Never, in the entire time that they have known each other (which goes all the way back to _kindergarten_ ) has Dean ever backed down from a challenge. There’s only one thing he can do, now that one has been so blatantly laid down at his feet.

While holding eye contact, Dean hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and starts to slide them down. For his own safety, and out of general polite courtesy, Castiel looks away. He busies himself making his bed while trying valiantly not to go insane at the subdued sounds of Dean getting changed.

The underwear swap had been done last night before Dean returned from his evening class. Sometimes that runs so late that Castiel is already in bed by the time he gets back. He has purposefully tried not to learn about Dean’s underwear habits in their times as roommates purely because he didn’t trust himself not to stick around and try to steal a peek whenever he changed. That was made all the more difficult by the fact that Dean apparently has _no shame_ and will drop his pants right there in the middle of the room whether Castiel is there or not.

“Who’s scared _now_ , huh?” Dean announces; tone triumphant.

Like an idiot, Castiel looks.

That was his second mistake. His first was buying the damn panties in the first place.

In the future he might praise himself for this, but right now he can’t even think. Castiel’s brain empties at a remarkable speed, discarding literally everything. Any thoughts about going to get breakfast before heading to class is instantly forgotten because he can’t think or see or comprehend anything beyond how the pink satin curves over Dean’s hips, or how it hugs the obscene bulge of his dick.

The colour suits him, just like the pink in his hair did before it washed out.

 _God_.

Castiel’s crosses the distance between them in two short steps and drops to his knees. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and his hands drop from where he had his arms crossed. If he says anything, Castiel can’t hear them over the rush of blood in his ears.

He drags his fingers over the satin, marveling at how soft it feels over the cut of Dean’s hips. What must it feel like to wear them? Dean certainly looks like he’s enjoying it. His dick most _definitely_ twitches in the panties, inches from Castiel’s face, at the first innocent touches. Dean leans into it; his hands coming down to rest on his shoulders.

The only word that makes it through the buzz in his brain is his name. Castiel tilts his head back just enough to look up at him. Dean is flushed from his chest right up into his cheeks and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth. He looks _decadent_ and Castiel hasn’t even touched him yet. He’s _never_ touched him. In all the years that they’ve been ‘ _practicing_ ’, they kept things strictly to kissing. They didn’t even do any heavy petting, regardless of the fact that they both got hard frequently during it.

And he can change all of that right now.

Without a second thought, Castiel leans forward and closes his mouth over the growing bulge before him. The satin is smooth under his tongue. Dean makes a choked noise and brings a hand up to cover his mouth. His hips twitch forward before Castiel tightens his grip to keep him from moving.

That choked noise turns into a soft whine as he drags his tongue along Dean’s hardening erection. The panties are going to get all stretched out and stained and Castiel can’t _wait_ to see how debauched he’s going to look. Dean will undoubtedly be even sexier with a damp spot on the front of them. Castiel desperately wants to see Dean barely able to stand; using the dresser as support after he’s made to come in these panties.

And then there are eleven other pairs for them to have fun with later.

Castiel closes his eyes and breathes deep through his nose. He doesn’t mind the somewhat musky, deep, dark scent down here. In fact, he presses further, opening his mouth wider so he can suck that little bit harder as he mouths over Dean’s dick through the panties. The next noise Dean makes is wanton at best and wrecked at worst. He shivers and the grip on Castiel’s shoulders tightens.

It surprisingly doesn’t take much for Dean to curse quietly under his breath. Castiel marvels at how he can _feel_ how his dick pulses under his mouth. The satin of the panties is so thin that it might as well be a second skin. He can feel _everything_ through it as Dean comes under his tongue – even tasting the bitter salty tang of him through it – or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Either way, Castiel sadly doesn’t have long to try and figure that out. Dean hauls him to his feet before he’s even finished sucking. He nearly stumbles as he’s jerked around and backed up against the dresser. The open drawer digs into his shoulder blades before it ends up being closed simply because Dean crowds closer, slotting a thigh between his legs as he occupies his mouth again.

His tongue twists against Castiel’s in the _exact_ way that makes him go weak in the knees. Dean has had a lot of experience in learning how to kiss him and he puts it to use now. Castiel groans quietly in the back of his throat, hips moving of their own accord to rub against Dean’s thigh. The friction is exquisite, but it’s not quite enough. Somehow his hands end up on Dean’s ass, gripping tightly to pull him in closer.

Fingers sink into his hair, pulling tight and sending lightning singing down his spine. Goosebumps spread across his skin. The moan he makes has Dean swearing again, and he rolls their hips together; the dresser bumping steadily against the wall.

Hopefully their neighbour isn’t trying to sleep in this morning.

Castiel comes with a gasp, shuddering through it until he’s well and truly made a mess of his own underwear. Only then does Dean finally pull away, though he doesn’t go far. He puts the bare minimum of space between them, dropping his head to rest his forehead against Castiel’s shoulder. His hands end up on Castiel’s hips, fingers curled in his shirt where it’s probably come un-tucked from his jeans.

Slowly, he slides one hand up from the satiny curve of Dean’s ass. He trails his fingers up his spine until he can cup his palm around the back of Dean’s neck. They’re both breathing hard, but it feels right. All of this felt right. Maybe it’s the endorphins firing through him, but Castiel’s courage has never been higher.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. After a moment of holding it, he lets it out slowly in a quiet sigh. “I love you.”

Dean goes still and sucks in a sharp breath. The weight on his shoulder disappears, though the only saving grace that keeps Castiel’s heart from falling through the floor is that the heat of the body against him doesn’t disappear.

The curiosity is too much to bear and he _has_ to open his eyes. He _needs_ to know how Dean is reacting to his confession. His stomach swoops pleasantly when he’s met with a soft smile and warm eyes.

“Took you long enough.” Dean leans in until every word is a ghost of lips brushing against his own. He presses a firm kiss to them for a brief moment before exhaling his own quiet confession. “Love you too.”

How could Castiel _not_ kiss him after that? How could he not push forward until they’re stumbling over their feet and collapsing into the nearest bed? Whatever happens today will happen, but they’re both definitely not going to be making it to their classes.

Castiel doesn’t even mind that he’s effectively lost the prank war. Some might even say that he _won_.

Either way, it was worth it.

**END**


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Jack Kline
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (language), pre-relationship, meet-cute, putting all my trips to Puerto Vallarta to use, don't worry guys they make it work long distance eventually, the linked ship is an example of kinda what it should look like (no engine tho).
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Come whale away with me AU with activist/comedian!Cas. Dean has to do a fucking triple take on the sign. “Bathe the whales?” “Yes.” The handsome guy holding the sign deadpans. All Dean can manage is; “Why?” “Well, now that I have your attention, would you like to come on our whale watching cruise?” Sam answers; “YES, WE WOULD!”_

**PROMPT #36**

“I hate travelling.”

“You _love_ travelling.” Sam corrects, not even bothering to look up from the pamphlet currently under inspection. “What you _hate_ is flying. Now stop whining and help me pick an excursion to do.”

Dean grimaces and applies another layer of sunscreen to his face. He’s pretty resilient to getting sunburns, but he doesn’t want to risk anything down here in the Mexican sun. Melanoma is a serious thing, okay? And he doesn’t want to be that dumbass who obviously looks like a tourist with the shitty hat and a fanny pack – like _Sam_.

Neither one of them has been to Mexico before, and it fucking _shows_. If Dean had any say in where they were going for this trip, he would have insisted on Disney World. Florida isn’t half as hot as here, as far as he remembers (he’s only been there as a _kid_ ). But at least there would have been rides, and good food, and lovable characters and _fun_. What’s not to love about Disney World, huh?

At least the sea is really pretty and they have a good view of it from their balcony. Dean could do without rooming with Sam and his stinky ass, though. The food here is… It’s not _horrible_ , but it just doesn’t taste right (yes, he’s a food snob, so sue him!) and it’s wreaking havoc on Sam’s intestines and he already gets a bad case of the rooty tooty booty from a bean burrito let alone all the stuff they serve here at the resort.

Also, it’s a _resort_. Why the fuck are there so many kids around? The pool is filled with screaming children running around and splashing everyone. All Dean wanted was to kick back by the pool and abuse the open bar. God, and the _beds_? Hard as a rock with scratchy sheets. No wonder this place was so fucking cheap. Dean finds problems with just about everything and Sam has called him ‘ _Goldilocks_ ’ more times than he cares for.

“How about swimming with dolphins?”

Dean wrinkles his nose at it. “Do you know the statistics about how often dolphins get hot and bothered for people? No thank you.”

Sam rolls his eyes, the nerve of him, and switches to a different pamphlet. “What about parasailing?”

He doesn’t even need to answer that verbally. Dean fixes Sam with a flat look and he puts that one back on the rack next to the excursions desk with a sigh.

“What about going to see a cenote? Or some Mayan ruins?”

“Hike through the jungle and catch dengue fever or God knows what else? Nuh-uh, not happening.” Dean crosses his arms and turns away. “And ruins, Sammy? I’ve seen Indiana Jones. You’re just _begging_ to get cursed.”

With another reserved sigh, Sam puts the pamphlet back and starts reaching for one with _snorkeling_ people on the front of it. Dean slaps his hand away. “Have you never heard of _sharks_?”

“Oh for the love of –” Sam turns to Dean sharply, hands on his hips. “You’re _impossible_. Is there _anything_ that you want to do?”

Chill in the shade next to a child-less pool with endless margaritas and a stream of hotties in tight shorts or bikinis walking by. But that seems to be an impossible dream at this resort. If they ever come back to Mexico, Dean is absolutely going to save up for some place that is child free and his decision to stay is going to hinge entirely on how soft their beds are. If he’s spending _thousands_ to be down here, then he better be sleeping on a fucking _cloud_.

But of course he can’t _say_ that. Otherwise Sam might make him sleep out on the balcony. Dean hasn’t encountered a Mexican mosquito yet, and he doesn’t plan to. But he also has to make Sammy happy. It’s not fair to keep him trapped in the resort because he wants to go out and enjoy himself.

Dean shrugs and gestures out toward the open front of the resort because apparently doors don’t exist down here unless it’s for a private room. “I dunno. We could go shopping and get gifts?”

Mom would probably love whatever little trinket they get her, and Dean is dead set on bringing back a sombrero for Dad. Not because he wants one, of course, but because _Dean_ wants to see him wear it. Even if it’s only once. It’ll be fucking _hilarious_.

Sam sighs and drops his hands. “Fine. Maybe we’ll find something to do out there.”

They visit their room once more before heading out of the resort. Sam is already excitedly talking about something called _The Malecón_. Why he can’t just say ‘boardwalk’ is beyond him, but that’s exactly what it sounds like to Dean. The only reason he _isn’t_ scowling about this is because Sam mentioned _Bubba Gump Shrimp_ and of course Dean has to visit something like that. And whatever he’s talking about named _Señor Frog_ because that just sounds neat.

There are groups of statues along _The Malecón_ and they end up stopping for a photo shoot. Some look like chairs and Dean drapes across them to the tune of Sam’s laughter. He gets a picture of Sam halfway up a ladder-like statue and shading his eyes to look into the distance. It’s a good time and he does end up enjoying himself – though he could do without the people coming up to try and sell him things. He’s weak for the kids with the baskets of pens that have been wrapped in wire and string to make them look like flowers and he ends up buying a whole bouquet that he doesn’t need.

Since they bought some things at _Señor Frog_ , the flower-pens get added to those bags. Sam is grinning like a fool, so he’s clearly enjoying himself. Dean is – Well, he’s definitely not having a bad time. There are drinks literally everywhere, nice sights, the food they’ve had hasn’t been too bad either (though Sam’s ass will decide that later on), and there are hot people literally _everywhere_.

Take the tanned dude standing at the top of some steps that lead down onto the beach. Not only is he lean and ripped and tan as the day is long, but he’s only wearing flip flops and a pair of swim shorts. Honestly, he’s the kind of guy that is _right_ up Dean’s alley. Scruffy, dark hair, a nice smile. Oh, it makes Dean’s skin tingle every time and he’s trying _very hard_ not to make eye contact. Especially because the guy is standing next to a sign and holding a handful of pamphlets, which means he’s selling something and it doesn’t matter how hot he is, Dean is _not_ going to get sucked into buying anything else.

Sam is chatting away about other stores that he’s read up on along _The Malecón_ and Dean pretends to be absorbed in what he’s saying so he can act like he can’t hear the guy if he calls out to them. But that doesn’t stop him from sneaking a peek at the sign next to him. And then he stops dead in his track and has to do a fucking _triple take_ to read the sign right.

“ _Bathe_ the whales?”

The guy obviously noticed them stop. He nods, face serious. “Yes.”

And all Dean can manage in response is; “ _Why_?” Because what the honest fuck? That’s one of the last things a whale needs.

The guy breaks into a wide grin and steps forward, offering one of the pamphlets. “Well, now that I have your attention, would you like to come on our whale watching cruise?”

“Yes, we would!” Sam snatches the pamphlet and starts excitedly reading it. “You can’t say ‘no’ to this, Dean.” He waves it under his nose and Dean has to smack his hand away to make him stop. “You okay-ed boats when you said that you wouldn’t mind going fishing!”

“And _you_ said that going fishing is _cruel_ so that’s why you nixed the whole idea.”

The guy nods along. “Your partner –”

“ _Brother_.” They both correct him at the same time.

“Your brother has a point about fishing, but I won’t drag you into that debate.” He waves Dean’s complaint off before he can even open his mouth. “If it sways your decision into joining us out on the waves tomorrow, we strive to make our cruise as environmentally friendly as possible. We move by sail and oars instead of using engines and gasoline, we minimize the vast majority of our waste by using recyclable materials, and we can guarantee an _excellent_ time.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “And what if that _doesn’t_ sway our decision?”

“How about if I say that our sloop has a very _pirate_ -esque style and our crew dresses and talks like them just for the hell of it?” He tilts his head and his eyes crinkle with his smile. “We just do whale watching cruises, so we don’t have quite the same excursions as the _Marigalante Pirate Ship_ , but –”

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_.” Dean throws a hand up to bring the guy to a quick stop. “What the hell is the Merry Galantaye Pirate Ship?”

“ _Marigalante_.” Sam corrects, and he digs around in his dumb fanny pack to pull out another pamphlet. This he hands to Dean. “I was going to bring this up when you were in a better mood.”

Dean takes the pamphlet only so he can smack Sam over the head with it. “You suggested fucking _parasailing_ before mentioning _pirates_? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

The guy snorts, obviously trying not to smile _too_ much. “As much as I would hate to push you towards a competitor, you should _definitely_ give the _Marigalante_ excursions a try. They’re more expensive than us, but they’re a _lot_ of fun.”

“We can do both?” Sam raises his eyebrows, eyes wide and hopeful when he looks at Dean.

Of course the guy has to mirror the look, and he has some _insane_ puppy dog eyes. Dean was already weak to the messy dark hair and scruffy cheeks that would probably feel _awesome_ between his thighs, but those baby blues? He’s done.

“Fine. We can do both.”

Sam and the guy actually fucking _high five_. If Dean hadn’t been at Sam’s side all day, he would almost suspect that they somehow planned this damn thing. But who is he to complain? He gets to go on _pirate ships_ and see whales! It’s not exactly fishing, but it’ll still be awesome.

* * *

“ _Buenos días_!” Cas, the guy from the beach, jumps from the edge of the sloop to the deck. “Are you ready to get going?”

Dean is still clutching his coffee cup and rubbing sleep grit for him eyes. It’s _Mexico_. How the hell is the morning this cold? He’s wearing a hoody and _shivering_. Sam is wide-eyed and bushy tailed, practically bouncing on his heels as he greets Cas with a warm handshake.

There is _one_ other person, dressed in pirate gear as Cas promised, moving about the ship. If anyone is inside the ship, Dean has no idea. It’s not that big. Just eyeballing it while he’s still half asleep, [he figures that it’s gotta be around thirty feet long](https://mdislander.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/5/2019/09/newman-friendship-sloop-plans-1009x800.jpg). There’s one mast in the front of the ship with two sails coming off of it in either direction. Nothing is down at the moment, but the other person is rushing around with ropes and shit like they’re about to drop them.

“Are we waiting for anyone else?” Sam glances around, noting that they’re the only people at their dock in the marina.

Cas shakes his head and gestures behind him. “Nope, just us.” He puts two fingers between his lips and whistles sharply. The other person stops and rushes over, skidding between the railing and the raised center of the ship that covers the below decks. He’s a teenager by the looks of him, as tanned as Cas is, with floppy blonde hair and a big smile.

“This is my son, Jack.”

“ _Hola_!” Jack jumps down to shake their hands too. “ _Gracias_ for your business. I’ve been listening to the reports and it’s looking like it will be a good day. We should see a lot of whales!”

Dean can only nod and sip at his coffee while ignoring the vague disappointment that Cas has a kid. Which ninety percent of the time means that there’s a wife to go along with the kid. That other ten percent… Well, Dean rarely runs into those. And he _did_ check for a ring, and Cas isn’t wearing one. There isn’t even a hint of a tan line on his finger, which means he hasn’t worn one in a long time – if ever. So… What’s that supposed to mean?

To be fair, it’s not like Dean is _actually_ interested. Yeah, he thinks Cas is hot and would _totally_ let the guy bend him over any surface to have his wicked way with him, but reality is a very different thing. For one, Dean is on this trip with his _brother_. He’s not going to ditch Sam at any point just so he can get his rocks off with a hot-hot- _hottie_. Plus, Dean is kind of a romantic. One night stands are great and all, but they always leave him feeling a little empty in the morning. He wants to be _wooed_ , damn it.

After a bout of rapid Spanish between their hosts, Jack climbs the few footholds in the side of the sloop to get back on the deck. He ducks down the steps on the rear deck and heads below while Cas gestures for them to board. Sam goes first and then reaches down to take Dean’s coffee so his hands are free. Cas steps up, all gummy smile and crinkled eyes, as he offers a hand to help him up.

“Uh, thanks.” He lets Cas take his hand and hold him steady as he steps up to the side of the boat. It’s not much taller than the dock, but it’s not exactly the kind where you can just step on.

“ _De nada_.”

A warm hand lands in the small of Dean’s back and he briefly stops breathing. The touch steadies him as he grabs the handrail and hoists himself up with the foot holds. Sam hands him his coffee back the moment he’s on deck, and then Cas is there next to him in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll give you a brief tour.” He gestures at the steps that lead down into the cabin. “Bathroom is down that way to the left. Kitchen beyond that, and if you get sea sick and need a little _siesta_ , there are two beds after the kitchen.”

From there, Cas leads them along the narrow space between the railing and the cabin to the front of the ship. There are padded pillows strapped down along the low front edge of the cabin where it practically becomes the deck of the ship. “These are your seats for the cruise. Feel free to move around the deck whenever you wish, just watch your heads with the yardarm. I’ll announce if there are whales nearby and Jack will cater to your every need.”

As if summoned, Jack shows up at Sam’s elbow with two blankets draped over his arm and a plate piled in apple slices and croissants. “Breakfast?”

“ _Gracias_!” Sam gratefully takes the plate and sits down. “Come have something to eat, Dean. Maybe you’ll stop being such a grump once you have some food in you.”

“I’m not a _grump_.” He huffs and drops onto the pillow next to Sam, already reaching for a croissant.

Cas just smiles at them and then nods towards the dock. Jack takes the signal as it is and salutes. “Aye, aye, Captain!” He ducks under the arm coming off the mast and starts untying the ropes that keep them tethered to the dock.

“You’re our only passengers for today, so just sit back and relax.” He glances around as Jack passes by to get to the next rope in the back. “We’re casting off and setting sail momentarily.”

Dean waves his hand in a lazy salute. “Sure thing, thanks.”

And then they’re left to their own devices while Cas and Jack busy themselves with ropes, sails, oars, and God knows what else. Dean watches while chewing slowly at some of the best croissants he’s ever had. Sam forces apple slices on him and he eats them only so he doesn’t have to deal with his ridiculous bitch face.

Cas and Jack shout to each other in Spanish before using oars to push the sloop away from the dock. How they can paddle such a big boat with such little oars is beyond Dean’s understanding, but it’s nice to watch Cas row. The muscle definition in his arms and back is _amazing_. He’s shirtless again today, though he’s wearing vaguely pirate-ish pants with a scarf for a belt and a bandana around his head. Both he and Jack are barefoot.

Once they’re far enough from the dock, Jack opens the sails. It’s all clanks and rustling until they’re fully unfurled. Both Dean and Sam lean back to watch them open, and billow as the wind catches in them. And then, with one sudden jerk, they’re sailing forward. Cas stays at the back of the boat, steering with a big ol’ wheel and everything while Jack stays on the move.

He brings Dean another coffee later on, and Sam gets a choice between juice and water since he’s wide awake. Sam doesn’t stay seated for too long and he gets up, moving around to look out over the water from the railing or to snap some pictures because he’s a giant _nerd_. That said, when he _thinks_ he spots a sea turtle, Dean is up and off his pillow just to hopefully get a glance.

There is, in fact, a turtle chilling out on the surface. Sam gets probably fifty pictures of it while Cas comes up beside them and explains about the _olive ridley sea turtles_ that come to the _Bay of Banderas_ every summer to lay their eggs. It’s much too early in the year for that right now, but there are still some who stick to the area.

Dean could listen to Cas talk for _hours_. That deep rumble of his voice is just perfect. He’s more than happy to lean his elbows on the railing and watch him gesture and talk passionately about all the different species of marine life that call the bay home. If he has a dreamy look on his face while he does it – well, it’s early.

“Captain!” Jack calls from the back of the ship where he’s been driving the boat while Cas has been talking to them. “Whales off the port bow!”

Cas actually grabs Dean by the hand and drags him across the deck, ducking under the yardarm. Sure enough, a puff of water shoots into the air a fair distance away. The ship creaks as Jack turns them towards where the whales are surfacing. They drift at a distance as other boats also gather around, probably all here to watch the whales.

“Hopefully one will breach for us.” Cas squeezes Dean’s hand once before dropping it.

“Is that when they jump out of the water?”

“ _Si._ ” He nods and leans against the railing. “There are a number of reasons that they do it. Some say it’s to knock barnacles off, others say it’s to scout for dangers or food, and some think it’s just for fun.”

Dean mimics the way Cas leans. “How long have you been doing this?”

Cas shrugs and fixes him with another warm smile. “Quite a while. My first job was as a helping hand on a whale watching tour.” He looks out over the water. “My father moved us to Mexico when I was a child. Something about how he found this place so _inspiring_ for his books. He left quite a bit to me when he died and I used that inheritance to buy this boat and start my own company.”

“And what about Jack’s mom?”

“She’s not in the picture, and neither is his father. He’s my brother’s child.” Cas glances towards where Jack is at the wheel, grinning like a fool at the whales. “I’ve formally adopted him as my own though.”

Dean props his cheek on his fist. “Sounds like there’s a long story behind that.”

“There is.” Cas mimics Dean’s pose, turning the full weight of his attention on him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to hear it over some _cervesas_ later tonight, would you?”

He slips off his fist and damn near bounces his chin off the railing. Maybe he hasn’t had enough coffee and he’s still dreaming, because it sounds like Cas just asked him _out_. And now he looks like an idiot because his mouth is moving like a fish and he’s not making any actual goddamn sounds. Cas looks amused by the whole thing; eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“Did you just hit on me?”

“I asked you out for a beer, but I can hit on you too if you’d like. I’m a little rustier at that, though.” Cas laughs and stands up straight. “I thought you might be interested, seeing as this whole time you’ve been watching _me_ and not the whales.”

Fuck. That _does_ give him away a bit, doesn’t it?

Oh, what the hell could a few beers hurt? Why not have a little vacation fling? It’s not quite the wooing he’s been craving, but it’s better than nothing. He can okay it with Sam later on. As long as Dean spends the majority of their vacation with him, he shouldn’t mind.

This whole trip just got a whole lot more interesting.

**END**


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Charlie Bradbury
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  General, Alternate Universe - modern, pre-relationship, meet cute, soulmate AU
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Castiel’s favourite colour is green. Dean’s favourite colour is blue. These two idiots are destined for each other._

**PROMPT #37**

Dean tucks his hands behind his head and stares up at the gray sky. The sun is warm on his skin and the clouds drift by in wisps of white, ringed in silver and gold when they pass over the sun. But their backdrop is gray and it has been ever since he turned sixteen. At sixteen, Dean lost one of the most beautiful colours in the world and he misses it every day. It’s been almost ten years since then, and he can still remember the vibrancy of the sky.

One day he’ll get it back, but until then he has to deal with shades of gray.

“You’re moping.” Charlie flops down next to him, though she sits with her back against the tree. “It’s annoying. Stop it.”

“Not moping. Just… mourning.” He shrugs and tilts his head enough to see her. “Can you tell me what it looks like today?”

Her mouth twists and she rolls her eyes upward. “I dunno, Dean. It looks like the sky. What more do you want me to say? It’s _blue_.”

Charlie is one of the lucky ones. When she turned sixteen, she lost the colour purple. Her world didn’t change that much. It’s not like she lost the sky, or grass and trees, or something equally common in her life. She wasn’t impacted by it at all. She doesn’t _understand_ what it’s like to wake up on your sixteenth birthday and not even get the chance to look at the labelled colour palette everyone keeps next to their bed on the eve of their sixteenth birthday, because you can see the window from your bed and the sky is gray but the sun is shining bright.

The worst thing is that it’s entirely possible that he might never see the colour blue again – not unless he finds his soulmate. Sadly, finding one’s soulmate isn’t exactly the easiest thing. There’s nothing linking you to them to find them easily enough. Worse yet, it requires _touching_. If you haven’t touched skin to skin with them, then you might have met your soulmate without even knowing it.

Dean sighs and sits up. “What’s on the docket for today?” As if he doesn’t already know.

“You’re taking a group up to the falls.” She flips through the pages on her clipboard. “Take a pack and shit with you, because you’re staying up there with them until they’re finished their little weekend team building excursion.”

He groans and rubs his hands through his hair. “Great. How many?”

“Eleven. Business types too.” Charlie grins at him. “You’re favourite.”

“You suck.” Dean sticks his tongue out at her. “You couldn’t have given them to Sam or something?”

“He’s deep woods today.” She shakes her head and taps the clipboard. “Escorting that Boy Scout troop and giving them the four-one-one on everything, because you know how he is.”

“Those poor kids.” They’ll never get a word in edgewise one Sam starts talking about the flora and fauna of the forest. He sighs and gets to his feet, knocking dirt from his pants. “Right, guess I better go get my shit ready. I’m getting overtime for this, right?”

Charlie rolls her eyes and stands up too. “Overtime, free food, _and_ extra days off.”

They high five before starting back to the main office. Dean will meet with the clients there, run them down through park rules and regulations, make sure they have the proper gear and offer to lease any out that they might need, and then it’s a good hour and a half hike up to the campsite by the falls. Hopefully nobody is running late, because Dean does not want to deal with whiny corporate types being upset that they have to set up camp in the dark.

*

“Alright everyone, shoulder your packs. We’re heading out.” Dean hefts his own pack and snaps the extra cords around his waist. “Those of you helping to carry the coolers, pick ‘em up. Like I said, we’ll swap out every ten or fifteen minutes. Everyone is going to have a go at it, so don’t think you’re going to be able to avoid any heavy lifting this weekend.”

There are a few murmured groans from some of the older looking dudes in the group. Those looking like they might be within ten years of Dean’s twenty-six don’t seem phased by it. They just nod and copy him with putting on their packs.

After thoroughly going through what everyone had packed, Dean was actually impressed to find that no one was lacking. Apparently the dude who planned the thing had passed out a list of everything they had to bring along and everyone actually listened. They even brought enough food along for Dean, which is pretty awesome. Most places don’t think about doing that.

And that means that he was able to take the small pack with nothing more than the usual supplies, a change or two of clothes, a tiny tent, and a sleeping bag. It frees him up to help the hikers carry anything they might need help with.

During the hike to the campsite, Dean points out interesting things about the plants along the trail and which ones are safe, helpful, or harmful. He makes sure _everyone_ knows what poison oak and poison ivy looks like, even quizzing them at times to see if they can recognize it after a few hours. Dean enjoys talking about the different animals in the park and half the people do seem to listen to him.

Eventually, they reach the site with minimal bitching – thank _God_. Dean claps his hands together as everyone starts dropping their packs. “Alright! We’ll take a little break before getting your tents set up. There _is_ an outhouse up here.”

He points to a little wooden hut that can just barely be seen through the trees from where he’s standing. “There are solar lights that will keep the path to it lit at night and you can follow them during the day if you’re scared of getting lost. And, for the love of God, do _not_ wander away from the campsite. None of us want to spend the afternoon hunting your ass through the brush.”

A few of them laugh, but the rest nod in agreement. Dean clears his throat to get their attention again, because good luck if they think he’s done talking yet. “If you listen closely, you can hear the rumbling of the falls from here. We’re only a few minutes away by path and I can take you up there later on. I will absolutely ground anyone who goes up there without a park guide.” He uses his serious face and serious voice to make sure that they _understand_.

Satisfied when no one complains, Dean picks out his own spot – directly in front of the path to the falls, but not fully blocking it – and starts setting up his tent. With his out of the way, he’ll be able to focus on helping the others set up. In the meantime, they can find their own spots, relax, use the bathroom, and marvel at the beauty of the natural world.

He’s inside his tent in the process of rolling out his sleeping bag when someone clears their throat outside. “Excuse me, Mr. Winchester?”

“Just a sec.” Dean tucks his bag in the far corner of the tent before crawling out. One of the younger looking guys is waiting for him. “Hey, what’s up?”

“We were talking –” The guy gestures behind him at the other ten members of his party, all gathered together. “– and we were hoping that you might take us up to see the falls _before_ we set up the camp? We’d rather not be tired from setting up when we go to see it.”

Dean looks around at the gear scattered around the site. Personally, he’d prefer to have the tents set up so they can take their packs with them to reduce the chances of someone stealing anything from them. It’s fine if the food is taken, because he can always radio back to the main office to have someone bring out more and be on the lookout for thieves. But if they lose their _stuff_? Yikes.

“If that’s what you want to do, I guess we could go.” He shrugs and gestures around at their bags. “Do you want to take that up with you? If you’re not putting up your tents and setting up your sleeping areas to lighten your packs, then I would if I were you.”

The guy frowns slightly, forehead crinkling. Dean absently notes his grey eyes. “Does the park have a known problem with thieves?”

“Not really, but I just generally don’t trust most people.” Dean tucks his hands into his pockets and fingers the switchblade there. He also has a hunting knife strapped to his calf, just in case he needs it. “But I’m just here to guide you guys, keep you safe, and make sure that we don’t lose any of you to the Wendigo living in these woods. If you wanna go up to the falls, I’d be happy to take you.”

That gets him another concerned frown. “A _Wendigo_?”

“Never heard of it?” Dean fakes surprise and covers his mouth. “It’s a creature that used to be a man, but he was possessed by an evil spirit. The spirit made him cannibalistic murderer, and he hardly resembles a human anymore. The more people he eats, the bigger he gets.”

“And how does one protect themselves from a Wendigo?” The guy looks more amused than confused now and he raises an eyebrow. “A circle of salt? I’m afraid we didn’t pack enough salt for that.”

Dean snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Don’t worry. He hibernates at this time of year.”

“Oh, good. Well, thank you, Mr. Winchester.” The guy glances back at the others. “Let me speak with them first about the falls and I’ll be right back.”

Dean bobs his head in a nod and holds out his hand. “Please just call me Dean.”

“I’m Cas–” He’s mid hand-shake and introduction when he cuts himself off and goes _very still_ , his blue eyes going wide. The grip on Dean’s hand tightens painfully as he slowly turns his head to look around.

“Holy _shit_.” Dean breathes out slowly, feeling like all the air in the world is suddenly gone.

He blinks several times to make sure that he’s not just having a very lucid hallucination – not that blinking would fix that anyway. He tilts his head back and to look up at the sky; a soft pale blue that he hasn’t seen in a decade.

“Green.” Cas’s voice goes tight as he turns back to him. “You –” He stops and swallows thickly, a small smile starting to lift the corner of his mouth. “Your eyes are green.”

“And you’ve got blue.” Dean can feel a lopsided smile of his own forming. “Y’know, that’s always been my favourite colour.”

Cas smiles, soft and sweet. “I’ve always been rather fond of green.”

Well, it looks like today just got a whole lot more interesting.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on vacation in Mexico until January 18th and the wifi at the villa has been VERY intermittent since I got here. Updates will either be missed entirely or very late - depending on when the stars align and grant me wifi (like right now).


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for language), Alternate Universe - canon divergence (sorta), pre-relationship, slight pining
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _anonymous: Dean is under the impression that Cas has been turned into a dog. In taking care of the dog, he comes to realize that they’re kinda in love with each other. Until Cas and Sam find him and not-Dogstiel, that is._

**PROMPT #38**

“Would you smite me if I tried to strike up a game of _fetch_?”

Dean looks down at the cloud lying at his feet. It shifts and a pointed face comes into view, complete with black nose and blue eyes. An ear, pinker at the center than the rest of the pure white fur, cocks slightly as it tilts its head to the side. It’s such a _Cas_ gesture that it really drives home the current predicament Team Free Will has found itself in.

Well, the predicament _Dean and Cas_ have found themselves in.

Sam is back at the bunker doing research of some sort and wasn’t even here for when the shit hit the metaphorical fan.

It was just supposed to be a normal hunt with Cas. Gank some witches, salt and burn the bodies, and be home in time for dinner. The easy-peasy kinda BS that Dean could do in his sleep. Cas went with him because, like the cloud at his feet, he’s loyal to a fault when it comes to the Winchesters and didn’t like the idea of Dean going off to do a hunt on his own.

The hunt was supposed to be cut and dry. A one-and-done type of deal. It was just supposed to be _one_ witch, according to literally every scrap of evidence they were able to gather before moving into the confrontation stage of the hunt.

 _Bzzzzt_.

They were _wrong_.

It wasn’t one fucking witch, it was a whole damn _Coven_.

When they busted down the door to the warehouse where the witch was supposed to be doing the dastardly deeds, there was not one; not two; not even _three_ witches. There was a grand total of _twelve_ witches gathered around a pentacle painted in blood taken from the ewe they’d slaughtered on an alter a whole five away.

There were kennels and cages further back, hidden in the shadows, full of other animals. Cats were meowing, dogs were barking, birds were tweeting, and it was a general cacophony that they were _not_ expecting when they had rolled up. And if that wasn’t awkward enough, all twelve of the witches (both men and women, mind you) were naked as the day they were born, with weird symbols drawn on their bodies in blood.

Cas put out the candles burning around the circle in one _whoosh_ of angelic grace, but that still left them with twelve witches to take down. Spells were hurled left and right while Dean was elbow deep in stabbing with Ruby’s knife or Cas’s angel blade when he tossed it his way. They swapped weapons back and forth like they’d been doing it their whole life; fighting like one cohesive unit rather than two separate people. It was a level of _awesome_ that Dean isn’t even sure he’s ever achieved with Sam.

They _wrecked_ those witches.

Right up until the last two.

With a bit of that angel mojo behind his strength, Cas had tossed the altar across the room so he could close in on the remaining two where they were frantically searching through a spell book. They must have found what they were looking for, because there was a bright light that filled the room and then something actually _exploded_.

Dean was knocked off his feet and into something hard and unyielding. He was just dazed enough that he didn’t even notice the last two witches make their escape. By the time he got his senses together, Dean was alone in a veritable zoo. Apparently on their way out, the last two saw fit to let every animal out. Props to them for covering their tracks, but holy _shit_ man.

And, of course, Cas was gone. Well, not _entirely_ gone. The cloud at his feet is proof enough of that. Where Cas had been before the light show, there was the cloud standing over Cas’s clothes and trench coat; nosing through it like he was confused he wasn’t wearing them.

The fucking witches went and turned Cas into a _dog_. And it’s not even a breed Dean is familiar with. What type of dog looks like a cloud? The best he can think of is a Chow Chow, but the face is all wrong for it. All he knows is he took one look at those blue eyes when the dog looked up at him and he _knew_ that this was Cas.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that the dog started wagging its tail the moment it notice him. It bounded up to him with tongue lolling out and followed him out to the Impala dutifully, no collar and leash needed. Dean broke his own rule and let the cloud sit in the back seat. Since Cas probably would need them later, especially once the spell wore off (or was broken once they got back to the bunker), Dean has his clothes folded neatly on the front seat.

If the whole situation didn’t suck enough, Dean’s phone broke some time during the fight. It must have been the explosion, or when he hit whatever it was he hit. The screen is horrifically shattered and it won’t even turn on. And of course Cas’s phone is dead in his pocket. For someone who loves emojis so much, you’d think he’d be better at keeping the fucking thing charged. And Dean couldn’t find a charger for it anywhere in the car.

Annoyed, pissed, and sore, Dean elected to cool down by driving around until he found the nearest dog park. Cas was ecstatic and he zip-zoomed all over the place while Dean walked until he found a bench. After Cas did his business (and sorry, but Dean is going to be one of _those_ people and he isn’t going to pick up that pile of shit), he came and laid down at Dean’s feet.

Which brings them to now.

“Don’t give me that look, Cas.” Dean reaches down to scratch him behind the ears – something that Cas apparently _loves_ given how his eyes practically roll back in his head and he rumbles some kind of weird growl-purr thing. “I’m just trying to figure out something for us to do. It’s either that or we’re leaving the park to find the nearest payphone, or charger, so I can call Sammy and fill him in on the situation.”

Cas _boofs_ and slowly gets to his feet. He shakes himself out and butts his head against Dean’s knee.

“What? You _do_ want to play fetch?” Dean gets to his feet and Cas all but prances around him. “Well, find me a stick.”

Even though he’s got some more _dog-like_ characteristics now that he is a dog, Cas still seems to understand English well enough. He takes off across the field, nosing around at the base of the sparse trees until he comes back with –

“That’s not a stick, but it’ll definitely do.” Cas drops a tennis ball at his feet and Dean picks it up. Looks like someone left it during their day time visits to the park. “We’ll toss this around until one of us gets tired or the cops come and kick us out.”

Cas _boofs_ again and bounds backwards a few steps, and then forwards, and then back. Dean hefts the ball back and then whips it as far as he can. Cas takes off after it; a blur of white against the dark of the grass. It’s way too late for them to be here, but Dean doesn’t care. At least no one else is around to see him playing a game of fetch with an angel.

There is the very real possibility that Cas might kill him for this when he gets back to normal. If he remembers, that is.

They play fetch for what feels like half an hour. Dean’s shoulder is actually sore by the time Cas stops chasing the ball and just stares at him, panting in that doggy way. “Guess we should head out, huh?”

He gets a doggy yawn in answer.

“Yeah, I’m beat too, buddy.” Dean pats him on the head and starts toward the car. Cas follows closely beside him and waits patiently at the back door to be let in. “What do you say to getting some burgers, huh? I’ll get one of those universal charger bullshit things from the gas station and we can charge your phone up back at the motel.”

Cas yawns again and lies down across the backseat. Apparently his angel endurance didn’t carry over into the dog-cloud hybrid body. Which is kinda cute, to be honest. Dean takes a moment to pet him before he shuts the door.

The only thing that Cas wakes up for is when Dean goes through a drive-thru. By then he’s got the charging cable. As soon as the food is actually in the car, Cas stands and starts whining. Dean shakes his head and keeps the bag of food in his lap. “I already broke one rule about the Impala today, and I’m not breaking another. Especially with your sloppy dog chops. Sorry, Cas.”

But he whines again and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, shifting impatiently all the way to the motel. They get out and Cas dances around him, half jumping and sniffing at the bag. Dean holds it out of reach until they’re safely in their room.

“Cas, buddy, you need to calm down.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Cas drops his butt and sits. He’s still eyeing the bag of burgers, but he’s gone still. Ready. Waiting. It’s cute as hell and Dean ruffles the fur between his ears. “Good boy.”

He gets a _boof_ in response and Dean doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Either way, he unwraps two plain burgers and uses his fingers to pull them apart – bun and all – into manageable pieces. With the mess gathered on one wrapper, he puts it down on the floor. Surprisingly, Cas doesn’t move. He keeps staring at Dean, waiting for something.

“Uh – go ahead?”

Cas _boofs_ once more and drops to his belly to start eating. Dean rolls his eyes and tucks into his own burger. “How far are you going to take the doggy-ness, huh? I know you’re still in there and you’ve never waited for me to tell you to eat before.”

Of course he doesn’t get an answer. Not that he was expecting one or anything.

“Don’t worry. Your phone is charging and I’ll turn it back on when it’s got enough juice.” Dean nods at the phone on the table. “Then we’ll get a hold of Sam and get him out here. We’ll find the two that got away, have them turn you back, and then finish the hunt and head home together.”

Sure, he could _probably_ finish the hunt on his own, but Dean is no spring chicken. He’s frikken _forty_ now. There are aches and pains, and he definitely cracked something during that explosion earlier. Throwing the ball around for Cas didn’t help none either. A fresh set of eyes – especially _Sam’s_ eyes – might be just the thing they need to find those witches. Chances are they both went to ground now that they know they’ve been found out.

Speaking of aches and pains – that bed is looking mighty attractive and Dean is _exhausted_. “How much would you hate me if I took a bit of a nap right now?”

Cas pauses with licking his chops and cleaning the wrapper of any food remnants. He blinks at Dean and then gives a jaw cracking yawn of his own, tongue flopped out and everything. Yeah, looks like he’s down for a nap too.

Dean kicks off his boots and tosses his coat over the other bed – the one that Cas had slept in last night. He spends a minute or two emptying his pockets and removing all weapons from his person because that shit is _not_ comfortable to sleep with. He’s done it before, but he’s not willing to do it this time. With a groan, he flops face down across his bed, not even bothering with the blanket.

After a few minutes, there’s a heavy _thump_ and the bed dips.

Dean lifts his head and looks over his shoulder at the cloud now standing over his legs. “Dude. No dogs on the bed.”

Cas ignores him completely. He walks up the bed, a bit unsteadily on the mattress because, quite honestly, this bed is _shit_ and a cold wet nose bumps against Dean’s cheek. That’s followed with a quick lick. Dean snorts and shoves Cas back.

“Cut it out.”

But Cas just huffs and steps close again. This time he gets a lick to Dean’s hand. Then he’s actually walking _on_ him, which isn’t as fun as it sounds when there are bruises and hairline fractures (probably) to deal with. Dean groans and pushes him off again; this time rolling over so he can better defend himself. Cas apparently just takes it as a challenge. He tries dipping and dodging Dean’s hands, licking at whatever he can reach.

Their little battle doesn’t last very long, because just as suddenly as he started it, Cas stops. He drops heavily next to Dean with another dog-breath yawn (not pleasant). Cas rests his head across Dean’s chest and makes a few huffy noises before closing his eyes.

“I should kick you off the bed.” Dean grumbles and settles back into the pillow. “But you’re too damn cute like this.” And if Cas remembers _that_ when he’s back to normal, he’ll deny everything.

It’s been a while since he’s slept with anyone sharing his bed, let alone a dog, but Dean manages to slip off to dream land surprisingly quickly. Maybe it’s because of the comforting weight on his chest, or maybe it’s because it’s _Cas_ and there’s always something about being with him that Dean finds peaceful, but it’s a good sleep. No, it’s a _great_ sleep.

Or it is right up until he’s rudely woken up a few hours later by a wet kiss. Cas licks across his _whole face_ at least ten times before Dean is situationally awake enough to figure out what the hell is going on. He rolls, despite the creaking bones, off the opposite side of the bed and onto his feet. Cas is standing on the bed, bright eyed and bushy tailed – literally. Seriously there is so much _fur_ on this cloud – and now half of it is on Dean after their little cuddle session.

“I know you’re still in there, Cas. Don’t think you’ve got dog deniability for _that_.” He scrubs at his face with his sleeve, but still smells dog breath. “Rude, Cas. Just _rude_. Now I’ve gotta wash my face.”

But Cas follows him right into the bathroom, prancing from paw to paw. He whines a few times while Dean uses a washcloth and a little bit of soap to wash the stink off his face.

“What the hell could you –” Dean stops and lowers the cloth to look down at him. “ _Please_ tell me that you don’t have to go to the bathroom right now.”

Cas answers by backing out of the bathroom and going to the main door to their motel room. He scratches at it a few times, whining and glancing back at Dean. Goddammit. This had better just be a pee. Dean already feels bad enough for having left the poop in the dog park last night.

“Ugh, fine. Gimme a sec.”

After suiting up again, Dean braves the early morning light to walk Cas up the street. They’re again hoofing it without collar or leash, so hopefully Cas doesn’t get a spur of dogginess and takes off after a squirrel or a rabbit or something equally small and furry. But, of course he doesn’t. Cas sniffs at literally everything they pass and he pisses on half of it. Dean, of course, looks away every time he does because dog or not, that’s still Cas. It’s _weird_.

When Cas finds a puddle, he dips his nose into it and starts lapping at it. Dean immediately grabs him by the scruff and hauls him off of it. “Dude, that’s _gross_. You have no idea what’s living in that. If you’re thirsty, I’ll pour you a bowl back at the motel.”

Cas answers with licks again, and Dean doesn’t find them half as gross as he did at first. “You’re way too liberal with the kisses like this, Cas. If you don’t show this level of affection when you get back to normal, I’m going to call shenanigans.”

That only earns him _more_ kisses. Seriously, _wow_. Cas is never this affectionate. Ever. He’s loyal to a fault and an awesome bro, but he’s never been like _this_. Or, at least not that Dean’s ever noticed. Yeah, he has issues with personal space, but he’s never walked with his shoulder pressed against Dean’s like the cloud is doing with his leg right now on their way back to the motel room. They don’t even _hug_ that often. So, how much of this is Cas and how much of it is just… dog?

The phone is definitely charged by the time they get back to the room. Dean gets a bowl from the Impala, because he’s basically a boy scout and has a set of dishes in the trunk just in case they need to cook anything at some point. He fills it with water and Cas makes a mess lapping it up. While he drinks his fill, Dean checks the phone.

There’s fifteen missed calls from Sam and twice as many text messages. Dean doesn’t bother reading or listening to any of them. He just hits dial.

Sam picks up on the second ring. “ _Where the hell have you been?!”_

“Sleeping, mostly.” Dean over exaggerates a yawn. “Got back to the motel after confronting those witches last night and basically passed out.”

“ _Do you have any idea how worri –_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, Sammy.” Dean pats Cas’s head when he comes up to lay his head on his leg again. His muzzle is soaked and it’s seeping into his jeans. “Can you come out here? I need help finishing off the two that got away.” He should tell Sam about what happened to Cas, but where’s the fun in that? If anything, it’d be kinda interesting to see how Sam reacts.

“ _I’m already on my way, Dean. Cas –_ ”

“Is fine.” Probably. He’s just a dog right now.

“ _How do you know_?”

Dean shrugs. “I just do.”

“ _You know what? I’m mad at you right now so I’m going to hang up. Next time this happens, you’d better damn well at least **text** me before going to sleep._”

True to his word. Sam does hang up. Dean rolls his eyes and looks down at Cas again. “God, he’s such a _drama queen_. Right?”

Cas _boofs_ again and Dean takes that as an agreement. He fires off the address in a text message, just in case Sam needs it. They told him where they were staying when they first rolled into town, because it’s better to be safe instead of sorry. It’s a five hour drive from the bunker, so Sam could be here at any point. Not that Dean’s knows when he left, of course. Sam is just freaking out because no one checked in with him after the hunt like they were supposed to. That’s on Dean, but oh well. What’cha gonna do?

“You wanna watch some TV while we wait for Sam?”

There’s just something about Cas being a cloud that makes him look so _cuddly_. Not that he isn’t cuddly when he’s, y’know, not a dog. Probably. Not that Dean has any experience in that specific regard. But still. Dean makes himself comfortable in bed again and he pats the spot next to him. Cas elects to ignore it in favour of draping himself across his lap and twisting until he has a leg up in the air. Dean knows exactly what that means.

“Don’t expect belly scratches when you’re back to normal.” He sighs and (not so begrudgingly) gives in. “This is a one-time only thing. Because you’re a _dog_.” And he’s pretty sure that belly rubs aren’t nearly as satisfying when you’re a person. Back scratches, on the other hand, are _amazing_ and he wouldn’t mind Cas giving him one of those. “You _owe_ me when you’re back to normal.”

Yeah, that would be pretty great. Getting a back scratch and a nice massage after a hard day’s work. Cas has great hands and he’d probably be really good at giving massages. He’s definitely got the strength to put into working out the knots in Dean’s muscles. And if he could hum a song in that low, rough tone of his while rubbing massage oil into his skin? Perfection.

Cas gives a groan-huff kind of sound and turns over to reveal more of his belly. One leg kicks slightly whenever Dean scratches at _the good spot_.

It looks like heaven and Dean can’t help grinning. “You’re pretty cute like this.” Cas rocks his head to look at him, blue eyes bright and standing out against the white of the fur. Dean can feel heat fill his face. “Not that you’re not cute normally, but – I mean –”

Another _boof_ interrupts him and Cas twists back onto his paws. He stands up, a cloud towering over Dean, and slobbers _all over his face_ with licking kisses. It’s absolutely disgusting and Dean shoves him away with a laugh.

“I get it, I get it! You’re cute _all the time_.” He uses his shirt to wipe his face again. This time not minding the doggy breath so much. “Happy now?”

Cas gives a full body wiggle and flops back across Dean’s legs. He gives one of those ridiculous happy-dog grins and lifts his back leg again, ready for more scratches.

“Man, I wonder if you’re secretly this affectionate normally.” Dean sighs and returns to scratching. “I’m going to be _so pissed_ if you’re just using this whole dog thing as an excuse to be cuddly.” He takes Cas’s head in his hands and fidgets with his ears, making them flop one way and then the other. “If you crave cuddles normally, I could take you to another whore house if you want.”

But Cas doesn’t seem to like that idea. He nips as Dean’s hands, teething at them without breaking the skin. It doesn’t hurt, but yeah, it gets the point across.

“Okay, okay. No more whore houses.” Not that Dean thinks he would be able to stomach taking Cas to one again anyway. Even just _saying_ it doesn’t sit right with him. Cas deserves better than that. He deserves someone who’ll cuddle him right, not just after sex. He deserves someone who’ll make him pancakes in bed and give him back rubs when he’s tired. He needs someone who appreciates him for everything that he does and – and Dean is the shittiest friend ever.

Here he is, giving Cas a belly rub, and all he’s thinking about is that he hopes Cas never meets someone like that because then he’ll _leave_. And Dean fucking _hates_ it when he leaves. He only just recently got Cas to actually stick around without taking off after every hunt to go do whatever angelic things that he does when he’s not with them.

There’s no real big bad or world ending thing going on in their lives anymore, and Cas stays more often than not. But it’s not good enough. Dean wants him to stay. Period. It _sucks_ whenever he’s not around. Sam is great and all, but there’s a kind of freedom about hanging with Cas that Dean doesn’t have with Sam. Brother or not, Dean still catches himself posturing for him. He doesn’t do that with Cas. Not anymore, at least.

“If it’s cuddles you want, I guess you could just come to me.” Dean hums and leans back against the headboard, content with whatever channel the TV is currently playing. “It’s been a while for me, but I’ve been told I’m a good cuddler. I’ll even let you be big spoon.” Because little spoon is the _best_ and Dean doesn’t get enough of it.

Cas would probably be an awesome cuddler. That might just be Dean hoping, though. But those strong arms of his could hold him _so nice_. And his chest probably isn’t that bad either. Cas isn’t _ripped_ or anything, but he’s not boney and angular. Naw, he’s all soft curves and planes and Dean just – he _really_ likes the idea of nuzzling up in the crook of Cas’s neck and just falling asleep there.

“I could _definitely_ cuddle you.” He sighs and looks down at the cloud basically in his lap. “Whenever you want. Just – come to me, okay? I’ll do it.” Because he may or may not be a little bit in love with his best friend, and ain’t that just a kick in the crotch?

It kinda sucks that he only has the balls to say anything about it when Cas might potentially not remember what happened during his day as a dog.

*

When Sam bangs on the door a few hours later, Cas jumps off the bed with a bark. It’s not the same as his happy little _boof_ sounds that were never quite a full bark. He stands in front of the door, giving it a hard glare until Dean shoos him out of the way.

Sam looks very confused when he opens the door. “Do you have a dog in there?”

“Yup.” Dean opens the door wide enough for him to get in. “Say ‘ _hi_ ’ to Cas.” He gestures at the cloud waiting with tail wagging.

“Uh – What?” Sam walks into the room and looks down as Cas immediately comes forward to start sniffing him up one leg and down the other. “What do you mean?”

Dean shrugs and shuts the door. “This is Cas. The witches hit him with something, the room exploded, and when I woke up again there he was standing on a pile of his clothes.”

Sam gives him a _very_ confused look after that. “Dean.” He reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”

“A little bruised and a lot sore, but otherwise I’m fine.” He brushes Sam’s hand away. “Why?”

“Because that –” Sam points at Cas. “Is not Cas.”

Dean frowns and crouches next to Cas to put his hands over his ears. “Don’t listen to him, Cas. He doesn’t know what you’ve been through.”

“I’m serious, Dean.” Sam goes over to the door again. “That’s not Cas.”

“How do _you_ know he’s not, huh?”

To answer, Sam waits. A few moments later, another knock comes at the door. Sam opens it. “How far away did you have to park?”

“A block.” Cas steps into the room, almost looking like an entirely different person without his signature trench coat. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing some of Dean’s old clothes – including one of his old jackets. “That manager was _very_ impolite when she told me there was no visitor parking in the lot. I am not impressed with their customer service.” He stops and looks down at Dean. “Why do you have a dog? What happened while I was gone?”

Normally he would answer, but right now Dean’s brain is stalling out. He blinks once, twice, three times before looking at the dog. “You’re not Cas?”

The cloud _boofs_ and licks him on the cheek.

“No, that is most definitely not _me_. It must have been one of the animals the coven had caged to use as a sacrifice.” Cas raises an eyebrow and shares a look with Sam. “Have you been thinking that it _is_ me?”

Dean stands up and clears his throat. “I had a totally logical reason for thinking that.” He crosses his arms and frowns at the both of them. “In fact, why are you _not_ him? How did you end up with Sam?”

“The witches used an altered version of the angel banishment sigil that we normally use.” Cas sighs and runs a hand over his chest. “It banished me clear across the state _without_ my clothes. I nearly got arrested for public indecency until I convinced the police that I was the victim of a cruel prank. They gave me some temporary clothes to wear while I called Sam for assistance. He brought me more clothes and we came right here.”

His frown grows deeper and he steps forward to poke Dean sharply in his chest. “And the whole time, _someone_ wasn’t answering his phone!”

In his defense, Dean goes to his jacket and pulls his phone out to see just _why_ he wasn’t able to answer their calls. “And _someone’s_ –” At this, he pokes Cas right back in the chest. “– phone was dead, so I couldn’t call.” He pokes Cas in the chest again. “ _And_ you forgot your charger!”

Cas at least has the courtesy to look guilty for that. “I didn’t think I would need it.”

“You _always_ need a charger, Cas. What have I told you about being _prepared_?”

“Okay, guys, cool it.” Sam steps between them. “This doesn’t change the fact that there are two witches on the loose out there that still need to be caught _and_ we apparently have a dog now.”

Dean looks down at not-Cas and his ears go a little warm. It totally seemed like this was Cas this whole time, but he still feels like of dumb. He points at the dog. “Don’t you _dare_ say a word of anything that we talked about. Capiche?”

“What did you talk to him about?” Sam crouches and the not-Cas dog goes right over to him to nose at his hands for scratches.

“Absolutely nothing.” Dean turns away and goes over to the other bed. “Here, Cas. I saved all your clothes for you.”

The dog _boofs_ and whines a few times and Cas makes a couple understanding noises. The kind of noises that do _not_ make Dean feel happy. He turns around to find Cas nodding as the dog looks up at him. His stomach drops into his shoes when Cas turns to him. There’s a small smile on his lips and Dean’s shoe-stomach starts doing flips.

“I see.”

Dean all but clutches the trench coat to his chest. “See _what_?”

“We’ll discuss that after the hunt.” There are crinkles in the corners of Cas’s eyes; smile warm. “Why don’t we take care of those witches before we start thinking about celebrating the hunt with back rubs and –” He glances down at the dog. “Belly scratches.”

Son of a _bitch_. The dog is actually a _rat_!

But, judging by the look Cas is giving him, that might not be a bad thing.

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dog breed is a _Samoyed_.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Castiel, Anna Milton
> 
> **Tags**  
>  General, Alternate Universe - modern, meet-cute (but not really), pre-relationship, dead aunt ships it from the grave
> 
> **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: Castiel’s ancient aunt passed away. She was a feisty woman, alienating most of her family with her honest (and rude) personality. Castiel helped her when he could, and he wasn’t surprised to be the only one listed in her will. But he WAS surprised to find that he inherited roughly 16 million in the stock market; suddenly becoming a majority shareholder of Winchester Auto Manufacturing. As it turns out, his aunt helped start the business 50 odd years back, and now the CEO wants to meet him!_

**PROMPT #39**

Castiel stares at the business card in his hand. It came in the mail with the letter from the desk of the CEO of _Winchester Auto Manufacturing_. It’s not _Ford_ or _Nissan_ , which are world renowned car makers, but they’re not exactly small either. They’re well known nationally, though perhaps not internationally. He knows for a fact they’re not small, considering that he apparently is now stepping up to take his aunt’s place on the board as majority shareholder.

His shares for _WAM_ and what other shares he inherited with his aunt’s passing totals about _sixteen million_. And now he understands why she all but physically beat proper money management into him throughout his life. If anyone else in their family had been listed in her will, they likely would have pissed away the money and not done anything _good_ with it.

In his case, Castiel is planning to maintain her stock portfolio as is – perhaps reinvest some of the money into other businesses that he thinks might stand a chance. He’s certainly going to donate to plenty of charities. Once he’s done with all that, he’ll focus on improving his own life. For instance, he’ll be able to actually invest in property now. Goodbye tiny studio apartment with leaking pipes and hello suburban bungalow with enough space for all the pets he can’t wait to adopt.

Because that’s something he can _afford_ to do now. His salary at the Humane Society didn’t really allow for that before. Castiel chose helping unwanted or lost animals over raking in big bucks. He has purposefully lived his adult life as frugally as possible, not because his aunt was a penny pincher herself and basically raised him while his parents worked their fingers to the bone to support their little family, but because he basically _had_ to. His parents still don’t have very much money, but he’ll do what he can for them – starting with their debits, despite how his aunt didn’t want to give them a penny.

But that’s what happens when no one really wanted to deal with her. Castiel knew her rough side and her soft side. She was certainly a – well, a _bitch_ – when she had to be, but she also liked to say that she didn’t have enough time on this planet to beat around the bush and let people get away with bullshit. If she had something to say, she said it.

Most of their family considered it rude and they went out of their way to avoid her, but Castiel didn’t. She was the only one who stepped in to babysit him ( _for free_ , mind you) and he didn’t like that even his parents didn’t want to help or visit when her advanced age started to ail her. He visited at least once a week, if not more. He cooked for her, cleaned for her, _talked_ with her. Castiel treated her like a human being, even if she was a bit crusty in the personality department, because he loved her.

She must have loved him too, because he was the only one named in her will as deserving of – Well, to be fair, no one actually knew she was so well off. His aunt lived and died in the same one-bedroom apartment she had moved into over sixty years ago. She pinched pennies and haggled and everyone just _assumed_ that she was broke. And yet – here Castiel is. Sixteen million dollars richer than he was when she died and waiting outside the office of the _CEO_ for _Winchester Auto Manufacturing_.

Is he dressed appropriately?

He looks away from the business card with the time and date written on the back of it to the suit he’s wearing. It’s – well, it doesn’t fit right. But even if he can afford to go buy a custom suit that fits him _perfectly_ , that just seems like such a waste. There is literally nothing in his life that requires him to own a suit, so the only one that he has is from – well, _prom_. The pants are a bit short, and the jacket didn’t fit, so Castiel paired the slacks with one of his nicer button-ups. Honestly, he has no idea where the tie even came from.

“Mr. Novak?” Ms. Milton, the personal assistant to the CEO, stands up from her desk. She steps over to double doors behind and to the side of her desk. “Mr. Winchester will see you now.”

“Ah – thank you.” Castiel stands up and shoves the card back into his pocket. According to the clock on the wall, it’s the _exact_ time specified for the meeting.

He smoothes the wrinkles out of his shirt as he crosses the small waiting area to the doors. Ms. Milton opens the door for him. “Mr. Winchester, your two o’clock is here – a Mr. Novak.”

“Thanks, Anna. You can send him right on in.”

She steps out of the way and gestures for Castiel to go on through; shutting the door behind him. The office of the CEO is cozy. Between the doors and the desk is a plush looking couch with matching chairs sitting opposite it with a stressed wood coffee table between them. The desk matches the table and it faces the door with a wall of windows behind it. One wall is taken up with a truly _massive_ picture of a sleek black car, and the opposite wall has various wall-mounted planters artfully arranged with various different plants.

The CEO is sitting at his desk, brows furrowed while he frowns at his computer. He glances up and Castiel is struck with a moment of familiarity when the frown eases into a smile. “Make yourself comfy. I’ll be with you in just a second. Gotta wrap up this email telling off the accounting department for denying a couple travel expenses they shouldn’t have.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Would you like anything to drink? A light snack? I can send Anna to get something.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Castiel takes one of the comfortable looking arm chairs and sinks into it – and never wants to stand up again. This might actually be the _best_ chair he has ever sat in.

It’s another minute or two before Mr. Winchester stands up. “All done.”

As he comes around the desk to drop onto the couch, Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the fit of his suit. The pants and shirt fit him _marvellously_ , though he’s not wearing the jacket that goes with it. Mr. Winchester is, however, wearing suspenders, but they’re hanging loose from the waistband of his pants rather than being looped over his shoulders.

He looks far more relaxed and informal than Castiel would expect of a CEO.

Mr. Winchester sighs and drops his head back. “Lemme tell you, it’s _hard_ running a company.”

“I can’t even imagine it, honestly.”

There’s something very familiar about the CEO, but Castiel can’t quite place where he might know him from. Maybe he’s come into the Humane Society at some point to adopt one of their animals? No, that can’t be it. Castiel has a _horrible_ memory for their customers. He doesn’t even remember the names or faces of the repeat clients who come in from other animal shelters to help them out by taking specific breeds of cats or dogs.

“It’s hard work, but it’s worth it.” Mr. Winchester sits forward suddenly. “And if it wasn’t for your aunt, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

“I’m aware that she fronted the original money necessary to start the business fifty years ago.” Castiel brought some of that paperwork with him and he pulls the folder from his bag. “And she has since served as a member of the board of directors right up until the day she died.”

Mr. Winchester grins somewhat ruefully and accepts the folder when Castiel offers it to him. He flips through the papers with some interest. “Yeah, that old biddy wouldn’t step down even if we had the _cajones_ to ask her to.” He lifts his head to wink. “For the record, we _didn’t_ ask her. Never even dreamed of it, honestly.”

“But I assume that’s the reason I’m here.” Castiel gestures at the folder. “I’ve read through everything, including the _several_ binders of extensive notes that she took of every board meeting. I can’t say I really _understood_ any of it, and I am – in no way – an acceptable replacement for her.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” Mr. Winchester closes the folder and slides it across the coffee table back to him. “But you _do_ hold the majority shares, which earns you a place on the board whether you want it or not.”

Castiel sighs and tucks the folder away again. “I suppose that means you want me to sell my shares?”

“If that’s what you wanted to do, then I wish I could say that.” Mr. Winchester rests his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers together. “But I can’t do that.”

He frowns and slightly tilts his head to the side. Mr. Winchester looks _amused_ and it’s throwing him off quite a bit. “Why not?”

“Because your aunt gave me explicit instructions _not_ to.” He leans back again and crosses an ankle over his knee; arms spreading across the back of the couch. “Swore to me about how if I dared to let you back out of taking her place on the board that she would haunt me from the grave. And y’know what? I believe her.”

“But I’m not _qualified_ –”

“You can learn.” Mr. Winchester waves his hand to brush off the objection. “You’ll get the gist of it after a couple board meetings.”

That’s _not_ the point here. Castiel shakes his head. “Mr. Winchester –”

“Call me Dean.”

He sighs, but there’s another tingle of familiarity at the back of his mind. “ _Dean_. I don’t _want_ to be on this board. I would rather sell my shares to –”

“You’re seriously going to go against your aunt’s _dying wishes_?” Dean gasps and lays a hand over his heart. “That’s low, dude. Even coming from me.”

Castiel purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “I don’t appreciate you using her against me like this.”

Dean laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Don’t tell me she wouldn’t have been amused by this. That old bat loved sticking her nose into everything. She’s the one who badgered the board into accepting me as CEO despite the fact that I had _no_ business background.” He gestures at himself. “I was a _mechanic_ before my dad announced his retirement and your aunt _insisted_ that a Winchester had to continue to head the company.”

That sounds vaguely familiar and Castiel realizes that his aunt had ranted about that once or twice. And once that door opens, so do a few others. She’s mentioned people by the name of _Winchester_ before, but never in regards to _Winchester Auto Manufacturing_. Castiel is fairly certain he would have remembered her talking about being on the board, or even having started the business up. But there’s more to it. There’s something teetering on the edge of his memory and –

“You were at the funeral, weren’t you?” Even if his words are disrespectful, Dean talks about Castiel’s aunt with a fondness that he hasn’t heard from any others.

“The whole family was.” Dean bobs his head in a nod; his smile softening. “We owe her a hell of a lot, and not just because she’s the reason Grandpa Henry was able to get the business off the ground in the first place.”

Castiel leans forward slightly. “How did she know your family?”

“She lived beside my grandparents in that old apartment building she died in.” He shrugs and looks to the windows. “That was back when the family didn’t have much money. She basically raised my dad with Grandma Millie while Grandpa Henry worked himself into an early grave trying to get the company off the ground. Grandma Millie took over at your aunt’s insistence and she kept taking care of my dad until he was old enough to look after himself.”

There were so many pictures in his aunt’s apartment that Castiel never asked about and he regrets that now. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were of the Winchesters. When he was packing up her apartment, Castiel took every picture out of the frames and put them in a photo album. Maybe he should bring that the next time he sees Dean (he has no doubt that this won’t be the last time) so he can look through it for anyone he recognizes.

“And then, of course, she babysat me and Sammy all the time too.” Dean glances at Castiel from the corner of his eye; a secretive smile forming. “The company didn’t really blow up until the last twenty years or so, and Grandma Millie didn’t want to live alone. So, until I was a pre-teen, we lived in that apartment with her. Right next to your aunt.”

It’s like a _light bulb_ clicks on in Castiel’s brain.

Something about it must show on his face, because Dean laughs again and turns to him. “Y’know, I was kinda heartbroken that you didn’t recognize me at the funeral.” He props his chin on his hands; elbows on his knees again. “You shook my hand and everything, but barely gave me a second glance.”

The memories come flooding to the surface from wherever they were buried deep. Castiel hasn’t thought about his childhood friends in a _long_ time, let alone ever stopping to wonder what happened to the boy his age that he used to play with _all the time_ whenever he was at his aunt’s apartment.

So many games of hide-and-seek throughout both his aunt’s apartment and theirs. The Lego cities and structures. The Hot Wheels tracks that spanned a whole living room. The tents built out of sheets and every pillow from _both_ apartments. The sleepovers staying up late watching scary movies they shouldn’t have been watching. The pinky-promises and whispered vows to be friends forever.

Castiel remembers it all and he can’t believe that he ever forgot any of it. God, he even remembers how hard he cried when he found out the kids next door were moving. Didn’t they promise to keep in touch? To stay together forever one way or another? It certainly never happened because he never saw either of them again.

The haze of time obscures names and faces, but – Could the CEO of _Winchester Auto Manufacturing_ really be that little boy he used to play with all the time?

“I’ve wanted to meet you again for a really long time, Cas.” Dean’s smile is soft and warm, and it rekindles something long forgotten deep in Castiel’s chest. There are a lot of people who shorten his name because it’s easier, but none of them have ever made it sound like _that_.

“I’d _really_ like it if you’d stay on the board, at least for a little while.” Dean tilts his head, never once breaking eye contact. “If it ends up not being for you, then at least you tried. But I want the chance to get to know you again.”

Castiel can’t bring himself to look away. He swallows thickly and nods. “Okay.”

Because he just can’t find it in him to say ‘ _no_ ’ to his first crush.

**END**


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  General, Alternate Universe - canon divergence, falling!Cas, animal!Dean, witches at work, pre-relationship, mutual pining
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _chewbaccaaah: “Sam. There is a bird in Dean’s car.”  
>  “Well, yeah, but it’s Dean.”  
> Dean tilts his head to give Castiel what he thinks is a nasty glare. It doesn’t work, so he puffs up his black feathers instead and yells “CawCaas!” at him.   
> “He’s either a crow or a raven, and he doesn’t like to fly.”  
> Dean hops down along the backrest of the seat, closer to Castiel to give him an imploring look. “Help.” He croaks, surprising both his brother and the angel. “Please.”  
> _

**PROMPT #40**

There are a lot of things that Castiel has gotten used to in his long life. He was born moments after the dawn of time and he was there when the first fish crawled out of the mud. He’s watched the rise and fall of civilizations the world over. With his own hands, he pulled the Righteous Man from the depths of the pit and pieced him back together. For that same man, he rebelled against God’s plan and forged his own path through Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory.

Castiel has seen _a lot_ and done even more, and yet there are still things that the Winchesters do that surprises him.

While it might be unexpected to see Sam driving the Impala, Castiel doesn’t think much of it while he waits for the car to come to a stop in front of him. It’s happened before and it will happen again. There are any number of reasons why Dean didn’t come pick him up himself, and Castiel flicks through all of them in the matter of a few seconds.

He immediately forgets every thought about it when he slides into the passenger seat only to find a sleek black raven perched on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam.” Castiel closes the door, but remains turned towards him. “There is a bird in Dean’s car.” There is a strict _no dogs_ policy when it comes to the Impala, and he is almost certain that the same rule applies to any animal – including birds and their penchant to poop wherever they please.

“Well, yeah.” Sam shrugs, unseating the bird slightly enough for it to warrant hopping from his shoulder to the back of the bench seat. “But it’s Dean.”

Very few things in this world make Castiel do a double take. This is one of them.

The raven – Dean, apparently – tilts his head to give Castiel what could be considered a nasty glare. He isn’t exactly brushed up on understanding animal body language, and it’s difficult without reading the creature’s soul like he used to.

Castiel’s powers have waned considerably as of late. The Winchesters only think that he’s not able to _bamf_ around like he used to. It’s much more serious than that, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell them of the extent of it all. There’s a countdown hanging over Castiel’s head. It’s only a matter of months, possibly even less, before his grace is gone completely and he’s nothing more than a Human.

After tilting its head one way and then the next, the raven – Dean, Castiel has to remind himself – gives a sharp **_caw_** and puffs his black feathers to make him double in size. The second caw sounds more like Castiel’s name, thought that could just be his mind playing tricks on him.

Sam sighs and runs a finger down the bird’s back. “He’s either a crow or a raven, and he – unsurprisingly – doesn’t like to fly.”

“He’s a raven.” Castiel tilts his head to match Dean’s; looking him over. He thought it was just planes that Dean was afraid of, but apparently it’s flying in general. Is he also afraid of heights? He’s never shirked away from the high balconies of the bunker before.

Dean’s feathers smooth out again and he turns his head to stare at Castiel with one brilliantly black eye. After a moment, he hops down the backrest of the front seat until he’s standing at Castiel’s shoulder. He caws quietly and turns his head the other way, and then dips it forward.

Slowly, Dean drops until his beak nearly touches Castiel’s shoulder. “ _Help_.”

The word is more of a croak than most ravens who mimic Human speech would have, but it’s easily recognizable. Judging by the sharp inhale from the other seat, Sam was not expecting him to actually _speak_. Castiel shares an equally surprised look with him. A sharp beak taps him on the shoulder and he looks back down at the raven.

Dean croaks his plea again. His eyes aren’t nearly as expressive as they usually are, but hope and desperation are there. Castiel’s heart sinks into his stomach, which is an odd feeling all on its own. It’s only recently that he’s been able to experience emotions the way Humans do and he realizes that _guilt_ is sitting heavy on his chest right now.

“I can’t –” He starts and stops, pressing his lips together. How is he supposed to explain that he simply doesn’t have the power anymore? There was a time that he could have fixed whatever this is with a simple touch, but now – Now he’s nothing.

“It wasn’t a witch, if that means anything.” Sam shifts gears and pulls them away from the curb. “I’m pretty sure this was a trickster at work. All the signs pointed to one, and when we thought we had it cornered… This happened.”

Castiel frowns down at the raven, brow furrowed as he quickly goes through his vast mental catalogue of – well, _everything_. Trickster magic is, unfortunately, _tricky_ to deal with. Their abilities rival angels, though they don’t have the power to back it up indefinitely. That’s why Gabriel was able to hide as one for so long before the apocalypse. It would take a fully powered angel to be able to reverse this.

“ _Cas_.” Dean caws again, though this time it very specifically sounds like Castiel’s name. He hops from the back of the seat to Castiel’s shoulder and taps him lightly on the cheek. “ _Help_.”

“Dean.” Castiel moves him to stand on his knee. “I – I _can’t_. I don’t have the power to fix this anymore.” He looks down at his hands and flexes his fingers, feeling the movement of _his_ body versus the grace that used to flow through it. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long moment of silence in the Impala with nothing but its rumbling engine to fill the space. Eventually, Dean leans forward to rest his head over Castiel’s hand. He uses the bottom of his beak to pat it a few times.

“We know.” Sam glances away from the road briefly to give him a soft smile. “We’ve known for a long time about your draining grace.”

Though the smile is meant to be comforting, it only makes Castiel feel worse. He slumps further in his seat and looks out the window – unable to look either Winchester in the eye. “I’m not going to be of much use to you once it’s all gone.”

Though he’s tried very hard not to think about it, Castiel is also incredibly worried that the Winchesters aren’t going to want him around anymore once he’s unable to do any heavy lifting for them anymore – so to speak. What use do they have for another weak human in their entourage? It’s been very apparent over his years of knowing them that _Humans_ don’t tend to last very long around them. Without his grace to back him up, what good can he possibly be?

And what will happen to his budding relationship with Dean then? It’s been difficult to find the time between one mission and the next, but the lingering touches and stolen glances. They’ve been building to something and he wants to see where it leads. But –

A sharp peck to his finger pulls him from his thoughts with a flinch and he looks down. Dean’s feathers fluff up until he’s nearly tripled in size. His shoulders hunch up to the sides of his head and he caws loudly – _angrily_ – before pecking again. Castiel lifts his hands out of reach, but that doesn’t stop him. Dean marches up his thigh, claws curling in fabric as he climbs clumsily up his shirt.

Castiel weighs the pros and cons of picking Dean up again versus getting pecked in the face. Before he can come to a conclusion, Dean reaches the highest he can climb on his chest. Instead of pecking him, he leans in and bumps the top of his head against Castiel’s chin. He makes a quiet _cooing_ noise and – Is he - Is Dean _nuzzling_ him?

His heart thumps almost painfully in his chest at the realization.

“ _Dumbass_.” Dean croaks softly.

“We never cared about your _powers_ , Cas.” Sam adds. “It was a nice bonus, but you’re our friend whether you’re fully charged up or not. We’ll appreciate any help you can give.”

A coo of agreement comes from somewhere under Castiel’s chin. His hand shakes slightly – entirely without his permission – as he brings it up to rest over Dean’s back. To his surprise, Dean all but collapses against his collarbone. His legs tuck up beneath him and he lies flat as he rubs his beak along the side of Castiel’s neck. The hushed cooing continues.

There’s a lump rising in his throat and Castiel now fully understands the meaning of the term _choked up_. He sighs softly and closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

“We’ll figure out a way to get Dean back to normal soon enough.”

“Of course.” He hums in agreement and runs a thumb along Dean’s side. “I believe there’s a book back at the bunker about tricksters. We catalogued it last month. I’ll go through it when we get home.”

Dean gives a quiet caw in answer, apparently perfectly content to remain cradled against his chest. If birds could purr, Castiel is positive that he would be doing it too. It’s certainly not an _ideal_ situation, but for the moment, he’s going to enjoy the physical affection and the knowledge that the Winchesters appreciate him for who he is, not _what_ he is.

“Do we have to change him back?” Castiel hums after a while, almost certain that Dean has actually fallen _asleep_ now. “I almost like him better like this.”

“Well, he’s probably easier to cuddle the other way, if that’s what you’re hoping for. Less chance of squishing him.” Sam shrugs and tilts a cheeky grin his way, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Plus, the sharpest thing about him would be his tongue.”

A disgruntled grumble sounds beneath his hand and Dean shifts enough to dig his claws in. Castiel hushes him and starts petting, making sure to rub his thumb over his head. Dean must not be as asleep as he thought he was.

“ _Dumbass_.” Dean huffs and tucks his beak down between them, folding himself up under Castiel’s hand until he’s comfy, content to sleep the rest of the trip home.

And Castiel is content to hold him the whole time too. Maybe that _something_ they’re building up to isn’t that far away. Now that his fears are more or less eased regarding his fading grace and the fallout from that, he can perhaps do something about it. He could act on it and make his slow descent into being Human a lot more enjoyable.

But he should probably wait until Dean has less feathers to do that.

**END**


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Characters**  
>  Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Claire Novak
> 
>  **Tags**  
>  Teen & Up (for language), Alternate Universe - canon divergence (sorta), Clair!Cas, pre-relationship, confessions
> 
>  **Prompt** :  
>  _anonymous: Cas has to spend some time with Claire as his vessel, and for some reason he thinks that it’s a good time to confess some things to Dean. Reality check: It’s really not. Misunderstandings about as they talk about the inappropriate age difference with Claire being barely legal, Dean being a grown man, and Cas being an Angel of the Lord™_

**PROMPT #41**

Dean slowly shuts the door to the bedroom where Cas – no, his vessel – no, Jimmy’s body? Whatever. The body that was Jimmy’s and then Cas’s but isn’t Cas’s _right now_ is lying battered and bruised on the bed. There’s some kind of glowing _rune_ hovering over him which, according to Sam and Cas, is supposed to heal the body and bring it back to tip-top shape so it can be used again.

It’s still _weird_ going in there to check on it, knowing that Cas isn’t actually in there right now. Whatever fight went down with that – God, Dean doesn’t even want to call it a _witch_. They were so far beyond humanity, with powers he hasn’t seen even _angels_ show, that he almost wants to say it was like some kind of demi-god. Whatever it was, it hit Cas with some kind of magic that damaged his vessel so badly that he could have _died_ if he didn’t escape it.

Which meant without Jimmy’s vessel to hold him, Cas had to find the next best thing. There _are_ other members of the Novak clan out there, probably, that could have housed Cas’s grace if he’d contacted them and asked, but why do that when they already know of the next best thing? Claire, bless her grumpy-cat pout, was willing to step up to the plate as long as it was a _temporary_ solution.

Of course Dean didn’t know this until his phone rang _after_ they ganked the witch-demi-god- _thing._ And that was _not_ an easy thing to do. Cas yeeting it out of Jimmy’s old body was a good distraction and allowed Dean to catch it in the back with an angel blade. Sam belted out a counter-spell (again, Dean doesn’t even one hundred percent _know_ what it was he did, since that was something Sam found with the help of Cas) and the creature pulled a Wicked Witch of the West.

Literally.

All over Dean’s favourite pair of boots.

He’s going to _miss_ those boots.

“You don’t have to keep checking up on my vessel, Dean.”

Jesus fucking _Christ_ that is never not going to be uncomfortably terrifying. Cas’s tone and cadence coming out of Claire’s mouth with her voice is just – it's so damn _wrong_. It makes him jump and he turns on his heel to find Claire – no, _Cas –_ standing at the end of the hall. Her head is cocked to the side in that ever-familiar Cas way – and it’s _still_ weird to think of Cas with feminine pronouns.

Granted, Cas only identified as a dude because that’s what he was wearing, but he’s actually a gender-defying cloud of angelic space dust or something crazy like that. And now he just happens to be a she because he’s in a girl’s body. It’s not _that_ difficult to wrap one’s head around, but Dean is still finding it a little bit hard to adjust to.

Especially because Claire is – well – She's _Claire_. They’ve only just reconnected with her and she’s still kind of a kid. She’s still going through her punk phase; barely legal and so _small_ compared to Jimmy’s body. Or, rather, _Cas’s_ body since Jimmy is long gone from that. Still. _So wrong_.

Hopefully this will go back to normal, because things concerning Cas cannot be properly thought about when he’s wearing Claire.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Dean huffs and locks the door, just to make sure no one unsavoury might be able to get in. “Are we going to have to put bells on you again?”

“You’ve never put bells on me.” Cas rolls her eyes and starts down the hallway towards him. “Please don’t worry yourself with my vessel. The spell Sam and I cast on it will heal it within the week. I’ll return to it and Claire can return to Jody.”

The key to the room is actually on a length of chain that, and Dean hates to admit it, is something he wears around his neck. There’s only one way to keep it safe, honestly. Cas’s body is something that needs to be protected and kept safe. Without it, either Claire loses herself, or Cas is as good as gone.

He loops the chain over his head and tucks the key under his shirt, well aware that Cas watches every movement. “As long as everything is okay, I’m happy.” He shrugs and starts down the hall, Cas following at his heels. “Scared the piss out of me when that creature knocked you outta your vessel.”

“You’re lucky that I was able to contain myself to something akin to demon smoke.” Cas sighs, falling into step next to him. “Had I left my vessel as I was, my true form would have blinded you all.”

Yeah, it sure had been a treat to see that glow cloud come billowing out of Cas’s body like that. If Dean hadn’t had a sense of _it’s okay_ flitting through him – probably emitting from Cas – he would have been too freaked out about losing his best friend to gank the creature in the end.

“Can’t resist bringing up how badass you are, huh?”

“Would you prefer that I didn’t?”

“I’d prefer that this hadn’t happened at all.” Dean makes a sweeping gesture to encompass all of Cas in Claire’s body. “It’s _weird_ and it scared the shit out of me when you smoked outta there. If you hadn’t done that whatever you did, I honestly would have thought that you were gone for good.”

Cas nods in agreement. “I almost was.” As much _Jimmy_ as Claire has in her features, the eyes are still all wrong when she turns to him. “If Claire hadn’t accepted me, and if I hadn’t been able to find another member of the bloodline who would accept me, I would have had to return to heaven. I can’t be on this plane without a vessel, otherwise I would simply fade into the ether.”

Fuck, Dean does _not_ like thinking about that. “Would hate to never see you again, Cas. Heaven would never let you go if you went back there.”

“Yes, they would most likely kill me after a millennia of torture, I’m sure.” She shrugs, and the gesture isn’t as fluid as it is in Jimmy’s body. “I will have to get Claire a good gift as thanks for allowing me use of her body. I would have hated to die with regrets.”

Now that piques Dean’s interest and he’d really rather talk about anything _other_ than Cas dying; even if the topic of regrets is tangentially connected. “You’ve got regrets?”

“Many. Mostly pertaining to you.”

That brings Dean up short. He stops, right there in the hall, and turns to Cas with his heart suddenly hammering away somewhere in the region of his Adam's apple. “What - What - uh - What’s that supposed to mean?”

As if it’s the most normal thing in the world, Cas turns to him with her head tilted back to look him in the eye. “I’m in love with you.”

The next noise Dean makes is somewhere between a _squeak_ and a _squawk_. It’s barely human and he’s not entirely sure that he’s even the one who made it. But it definitely was made and he takes a sharp step back because _what_?

Even though he’s not quite filling out Claire as well as he does Jimmy, Cas still manages to convey disappointment in her expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Her shoulders droop slightly and she brings a hand up to run through her hair. “I’m aware that’s not something you probably wanted to hear from _me_ , but if other complications occur when I attempt to retake Jimmy’s body as my vessel, I wanted you to know that I’ve been in –”

“Stop!” Dean holds up one hand and covers his face with the other. “Don’t - Jesus, Cas, don’t say that shit with Claire’s mouth.”

When he peeks between his fingers, the frown on Claire’s face is eerily familiar. “I know the likelihood of you returning my feelings is slim, but there’s no need to be _rude_ about it.”

“No, no, no. It’s not the – That’s not – You can’t just –”

It would be really nice if just _one_ thought could fucking complete itself before another one trips its way across his tongue.

Dean groans and rubs both of his hands over his face to buy himself a half-second of time to think. He blows out a big breath and drops his arms. “It’s not the _content_ and it’s not even the _delivery_ that’s the problem here.”

“Is it because it’s _me_?” She crosses her arms and that stormy expression of Cas’s fills her face. If Dean doesn’t play his cards right here, he could be in line for a smiting really soon.

“Yes, but no. It’s not _you_ , per se. It’s -” Dean waves his hand again to encompass Claire’s body. “Dude, she turned eighteen like _three months ago_. Do you have any idea how _wrong_ it is for you to be saying stuff to me like that when you’re in her body? Christ, I’m gonna be _forty_ in a few years!”

On one hand, that does seem to get Cas to stop looking so pissed. On the other hand, now he just looks confused. “So the issue is with my vessel and not _me_?”

“No, of course the problem isn’t with _you_.”

“Or the fact that I usually identify as male when in my usual vessel?”

“No, that’s not a problem either.”

Cas looks down at Claire’s body and fusses a bit with the hem of her shirt. “Your only complaint is that I’m using my time with Claire as my vessel to say this.” She hums and looks up again, face clear with understanding as she works through everything. “It makes you uncomfortable for me to mention my romantic and sexu–”

“ ** _Nope_** _!_ ” Dean slaps both hands over his ears so hard that he makes his head ring. He groans and rocks on his feet momentarily. “We are _not_ having that conversation right now.”

“But –”

“I’m not _listening_!” He turns on his heel and speed walks away with his hands still over his ears. “You’re an impossibly old angel in the body of _jail bait_ and we are _not_ talking about this right now!”

“Dean, would you just –” Cas must be following, because he can _still hear her_.

As childish as it is, Dean starts humming _Back in Black_ really loudly. He passes Sam standing in the entry to the library, book in hand and curious frown on his face. They must look a pair; Dean practically running away doing the equivalent of _la-la-la_ with his fingers in his ears, and Cas following him undoubtedly spouting some poetic rhetoric about how much she loves him and wants his dick.

Any other time, Dean would be _so down_ but this is _so wrong_ and if he has to go live at a motel for a week, he goddamn will.

On the plus side, at least he has kissing Cas as soon as he’s back in Jimmy’s body as something to look forward to.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Check out [my Tumblr page explaining about the D.A.Ds collection](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/d.a.d.). It has my no-no's for what I won't do, but feel free to submit prompts if you've got one you'd like to see (if they don't fall on that list)!


End file.
